These Masks We Wear
by Vaellaen
Summary: For the greater good, the role of the villain must be played. Or, the Heroes meet the Vongola under less than pleasant circumstances.
1. These Masks We Wear

**These Masks We Wear**

Orphanage of St. Clair, Collinsville – Illinois, January 8th 2017

At approximately 4500 meters away and as the Bio-ship rocketed across the treeline, the building finally came into view. Four stories tall with an old country-style design, formed of warm red brick and strong wooden arches holding aloft a newly refurbished shingle tiled roof and accompanying spire. Then encompassing it all, a massive glittering dome of transparent solid ice.

Narrowing his eyes at the sight of the anomaly, Dick zoomed in and enlarged the visual they had on the building. Immediately, they spotted Superman already at the scene, swooping in and out and landing blow after blow against the dome's lightly gleaming shell. Noticing their approach, he slowed for a moment and gestured towards a large clearing near a smattering of cars and trucks at the side of the road, police lights flashing as news crews scrambled to get their reporters in gear.

Acknowledging the space for what it was, Dick moved set the ship down, circling above the clearing first before beginning the descent. He didn't bother with the camouflage, assuming that awareness of the Team's existence was now more or less public knowledge, after the events with the Reach. Which was both a good thing and a not so good thing, depending on how you saw it.

It was convenient that it they no longer needed to hide their activities, but at the cost of no longer being as free, regarding the range of their operations. Now, they had to abide under the joint-international laws regarding superheroism and metahuman accountability, just like the rest of the League. Thankfully, they were currently considered to be in at least marginally good standing thanks to their major contributions in revealing the Reach's true intention towards Earth and the alien race's subsequent attempt at destroying it. Only marginally, of course.

Feeling the ship touch down, Dick unstrapped himself from his seat and opened a port at the base of the hull. Exiting through the opening alongside the rest of Alpha team, he found Superman already waiting for them near the bow of the ship, brows furrowed and breathing warm air into his palms. Watching their approach, the man of steel nodded towards them, shaking out his hands as he addressed them all.

"Nightwing. Wondergirl. Kid Flash." He smiled softly. "Good to see you."

"Right back at you, big guy." Dick responded, returning the man's smile with one of his own. "Alpha team was nearby when we heard about the dome coming up. What's the situation? Any progress getting through?"

Clark shook his head. "No, nothing yet." He responded tiredly, his tone hinting at just the slightest touch of frustration. "I'm thinking it might be magical. Heat vision didn't work, and neither did force as I'm sure you already saw me trying. Density shifting might be possible, but we'd need one of the Martians here to try it. It's also ridiculously cold."

"Have you tried going under? Bypass the dome with a tunnel underground?" Bart suggested, slipping his goggles down onto place. "Back in the future-past, we used to build tons of underground passages to avoid Reach patrols that were trying to mode us, maybe it could work here?"

Not for the first time, Dick saw concern flicker across the faces of everyone present. Really, as much of a big ball of sunshine he was most of time, there was no denying that the latest addition to the speedster family had more than a few issues. Not that that was particularly surprising considering his history, but it was still tragic nonetheless. Like seriously, "Scavenger Rights"? Dick didn't need to have grown up in Gotham to know exactly what that phrase entailed. Really, he just hoped Bart would feel comfortable enough sooner or later to talk about those issues with someone he could trust like Barry or Jaime.

Well, on second thought, maybe not Jaime. That kid did vicarious guilt almost as well as a Bruce, so probably not the best idea for his best friend to tell him how much of a living hell his life happened to be back in the future all of a sudden.

After a moment, Clark shook his head. "Sorry Kid Flash, X-ray vision shows that the entire building is surrounded by ice, foundations and basement levels included. It's actually more of a sphere than a dome. As for any civilians trapped inside, most of them seem to hiding away somewhere inside the building. Hopefully safe, but I'd rather not take any chances. We need into that dome as fast as possible."

Taking in the information, Dick nodded and then turned towards Cassie. "Wondergirl, you have the most experience with magic out of all us here, do you think you can check out the dome with Kid Flash to see if it actually is sorcery based and if so, what sort of magic it might be made out of?"

"I can handle that." Cassie smiled. "I might not be able to find out exactly what magic it might be, but I can definitely see if it's magic or not. And if it is, I think it might be better to call in Zee for help Nightwing. She's definitely a way better sorcery expert than I am, and if anyone knows magic it's her."

"Alright, I'll be sure to notify her then the moment you guys find something. As for you Kid Flash, I want you to run a full diagnostic scan of the orphanage and its perimeter. See if you can get a signal from any of the people that happen to be stuck inside, so we can determine their situation. Also, under no circumstances, are you to touch the ice. Judging from Superman's report, it's probably far beyond Antarctic level temperatures and I don't want to have to explain to the Flash why his partner all of a sudden has a few less fingers than he used to. Understand?"

"Loud and clear, Mon Capitan!" Bart saluted, features coy, yet his eyes - focused.

"Alright. Then we'll meet back here in twenty. While you two are off, Superman and I will be heading back into the Bio-ship to see if we can't get into contact with any more Leaguers that might be able to lend us a hand. I'll also be looking into the Orphanage's history and city files to see if there might be a lead as to why the Orphanage in particular might have been attacked."

"Sounds like a plan." Bart replied, sending a nod towards both Dick and Clark both before nudging Cassie to follow. The two quickly taking off at the sound of Bart's jeering. "Beat you there, slow poke!"

Turning back, Dick and Clark headed to the Bio-ship, leaping up into the craft through the opening in the hull and heading to work on their respective duties. Within moments, Clark had a feed going with the Watchtower while Dick himself began combing through the web for information on St. Clair's. Then only a few minutes into the search, the ship released a notification. Someone was approaching the ship from down the driveway. Rising from his seat, Dick made his way towards the porthole, before dropping his head through the opening. "Hello officer." He smiled.

With a less than manly shriek, the sheriff jumped, hand shooting towards his gun, before heaving a sigh at the sight of him. With a withering look, the officer straightened his back and extended his hand. "Sheriff Tolmy. Ehhh Nightwing? Yes?"

Flipping down out of the ship, Dick nodded, taking the offered hand. He smiled. "That's right. May I help you Sheriff?"

The other man sighed then, features quickly growing stern. "Why yes you can son. That, right there? I want it gone." He stated, cocking his head towards the dome. "And the people inside – safe, as soon as possible. The damn reporters are already doing their god-awful best at scaring the townsfolk, and the longer that dome is here, the worse it'll get. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Brows furrowing, Dick replied. "Already on it Sheriff. We have two other members running reconnaissance around the area, and we're calling in a few more hands even as we speak. We will get those people out of there."

The sheriff nodded in response, posture relaxing just the smallest of fractions. "Thank you kindly. Now, if there's anything at all you uh, heroes need please don't hesitate to ask us. We officers may not have the same Meta-human expertise as you all, but we're here to help in any way we can. So for now, we'll just be down the road, keeping those nosy reporters at bay. I swear their like rabid -."

"GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BASTARD!"

 **-(7)(7)(7)-**

Orphanage of St. Clair – Interior

With a gentle pull, Takeshi slipped Kintoki from the body of yet another Tainted, the child igniting in a burst of soulless white as the little boy fell, a heap of shrieks and screams spasming at his feet. Stepping over the poor child, the swordsman took a breath, feeling his emotions fighting within him as he rapidly moved to dodge a knife to his back. This time, it was a girl, younger than the boy that he had just slain, covered in blood and jagged white cracks that lined her skin. The tell-tale signs of a rudimentary Tainted.

Without pause, he swung up his blade and sliced clean through her throat, not bothering to watch her crumple as he marched down the hall, the sound of screams filling his ears, both human and those no longer. Reaching the first door, he immediately brought Kintoki down across the Tainted staff member attempting to rush him, before pushing past the woman and into the room.

Rapidly processing the scene before him, he delivered a swift kick to the Tainted strangling a fellow boy at the center of the chamber. Knocking the corrupted child away, he ducked down quickly to ensure the other child's uncorrupt status before raising a hand and sending a pulse of Rain flames out into the air. Three quick thuds quickly followed suit, the hearts of all three Tainted, whom had all emerged like insects all across the room upon his arrival, slowed to a halt in the passing of a second, their bodies writhing and twitching sporadically like bugs knocked unto their backs.

Pressing a finger to his comm, and kneeling down to place a hand on the now unconscious boy, Takeshi spoke. "I have another one. 2nd floor, boys section, room 201. Status: Injured, but no trace of corruption. Trace of Flame signature also detected. Deploying Mosca for transfer."

"Acknowledged." Spanner quickly replied. "Go ahead Yamamoto, we're ready on our end."

Digging into his breast pocket, Takeshi pulled forth a pill. Siphoning a small portion of his Flame reserves into the capsule, he then tossed the tablet across the room watching absently as it exploded in a haze of blue and revealing a newly activated mosca. Without preamble, the machine scoped up the unconscious child, placing him within it's open body cavity before closing it's form and marching towards Tsuna's location.

Silently, he gritted his teeth. That was only the fourth non-Tainted he'd found so far, and the eighth they'd had found in total since arriving, out of the total 78 children and workers inhabiting the orphanage. It ate at him to know that if they had only managed to arrive just a little bit sooner they likely would have been able to save so many more.

Still, eight was better than none and hopefully there would be more to find. He just had to act quickly. With a thinning of his lips, Takeshi strode from the room. Combing through the rest of the boy's section of the orphanage, Takeshi was able to locate three more untainted by the time he had cleared the area. Two of them, both barely 7 hidden inside a closet that they had both shared, and another older boy into his adolescence, standing traumatized within his locked room after having killed his corrupted roommate.

As he descended the stairs, there was a buzz on his comm. "Yamamoto." Hayato began. "We have three Tainted making a break for the Tenth's barrier outside, all with higher concentrations of corruption flame within them. Intercept and eliminate all of them before they make contact, otherwise they'll melt right through the field and begin infecting outsiders."

Frowning beneath his mask, Takeshi frowned. "Got it. I'm heading out now."

With a burst of speed, Takeshi raced towards the entrance, throwing open the large double doors and extending an arm. With a pulse of rain flames, all three Tainted crumpled to the ground, two dead in an instant as the blood in their bodies ceased their circulation. The third, still crawled onward, tears streaming down the sides of her face, arms reaching out towards the edge of the dome and the young heroes that stood beyond it. And unlike himself, they were unable to see the cracks the lined her skin.

With desperation clear upon their features, Kid Flash and Wondergirl, of which he had been informed, struck furiously and futilely against the outer side of the barrier, frost already crawling along the sides of their arms and legs and bodies. Watching as the Heroes continued to beat against the ice, Takeshi observed as the one known as Kid Flash, Bart Allen, finally pulled back, his features clearly pained and his fingers unmoving. Looks like even Speedsters could get frostbite it seemed, nor phase through Tsuna's Dying Will Ice, if all the vibrating the boy had been doing earlier was any indication.

Walking forward, and easily ignoring the heroes' muted screams, Takeshi readied his Kintoki, thinking then, just for the briefest of moments, about just how terrifyingly used to all of this he had become. He didn't particularly relish in the act of killing, in fact, much like Tsuna and the rest of their Famiglia, he abhorred it. But he also knew, just like the rest of them, that it was a necessary evil, and that in many cases, there was simply no other way to end the conflict.

This, tragically, was simply another such circumstance. All Tainted, regardless of gender, status, race or age, needed to be put down. Contained, else the corruption that consumed them would ensnare more of the weak-willed and vulnerable. They were Castello's living plague, sentient, capable of thought yet mindless in their inability to seek anything more than to expand their ranks and to complete their oppressor's will.

Re-establishing his resolve, Takeshi gazed upon the struggling Tainted. His stomach turning at the energy he felt wafting from her form, at the monstrosity he could feel just below the surface. And yet still, from deep within his chest, his heart ached at the sight of what was once, clearly, a beautiful little girl.

He raised his blade.

 **-(7)(7)(7)-**

Orphanage of St. Clair – Exterior

Her arms were numb, caked with frost. Her hands locked into fists, stinging horribly from the cold, and yet none of that mattered as she struck again and again in a desperate single-minded bid to break through the barrier between her and those children. She didn't even realize she was screaming, her cries of rage and desperation intermingling with those of Bart's at her side, their gazes fixed upon the terrified and tear-stained expression of the struggling little girl and her would-be killer standing above her.

It had all happened so fast.

She had been examining the ice, letting her fingers slowly trace along it's shell to get a sense of it's composition. All forms of magics had a particular feel to them, she knew, given her lessons regarding the better part of sorcery with Wonder Woman. Themysciran, Dark, Light, Egyptian, Haitian, Celtic even just standard witchcraft all had a signature with which they could be identified. But this barrier had none that she was familiar with. It felt like magic, and yet not, unnatural and also like it perfectly belonged. She had no idea what to make of it.

And then Bart had started up, his cries directing her to the sight of three wounded children fleeing from the central building of the orphanage, their clothes torn and bodies lined with cuts and bruises. They were screaming towards her, towards the two of them, racing forward as quickly as they could, features pleading, begging for help.

Cassie's heart had squeezed at the sight of them, and then promptly stopped as a look of sheer terror overtook their features after a quick glance back, their motions now suddenly moving in earnest as another figure emerged from the building's wide double doors.

A Mobster? She had initially thought at first, taking in the sight of his plain suit and tie, the only hint of colour, the light blue trim that lined the edges. The Mob was behind this?

But before she could even think of another thought further, she watched as the man he raised his arm, and all three children tumbled to the dirt. Immediately, Cassie was autopilot. Her body moving of it's own accord to strike against the ice, seeking no longer to identify it's what it was, but rather to smash her way through it. Almost simultaneously, Bart joined in on her assault on the dome, features now hard and body vibrating wildly in an attempt to phase his way through.

She watched in growing desperation as the mobster slowly began his approach, noting the katana he held at his side and his eyes fixed solely on the last and still breathing, brave little girl.

"GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BASTARD!" she roared, putting in all the force that she could muster into slamming her shoulder against the side of the dome, again and again and again.

Gracing their efforts with just the barest of acknowledgments, the swordsman brought up his blade. Tall and lean and swathed in black, the mobster wasted no time in delivering the killing blow, driving the sword right through the little girl's back and into her heart.

Almost as if the sword had struck her as well, Cassie reared back after the deed had been done. The child reaching out for them one final time, before the mobster twisted his blade, and the girl fell still with a silent thud.

Stunned, Cassie watched in silence as the man gently withdrew his sword from the final cadaver, finally turning then to provide the heroes his undisputed attention, head cocking to the side and allowing them full vision of his weeping venetian mask, it's dark blue tears caked with blood.

Already aware of Nightwing's presence behind her, Cassie forced herself to calm, willing her throat to swallow and her lungs to breath. She turned towards him then, her features pale from cold and shock, but now also lined with rage fierce determination. "We need backup, now."

Without a word, Nightwing grabbed the still clammy Bart, and raced back towards the Bio-ship, an officer of some sort right on his heels. Then with a crash like thunder, she knew Superman was back into the fray, moving so fast it was almost impossible to see as he once again began his assault on the dome. His actions, no doubt fueled by the righteous fury that she now had strengthening her own after such a horrifying display.

Taking a few steps back, she too, readied her form and charged once again, feeling the cold snap at her skin. They had to get in there. There was no question about it now. There was no time to lose. They needed in. The wall had to come down, and when it did, she was going PULVERIZE that piece of shit mobster…

 **-(7)(7)(7)-**

Orphanage of St. Clair – Interior: Spire

It was an exercise in futility. They would never get through.

Tsuna's Dying Will ice was unlike anything these people, these Heroes, had ever and will ever encounter for the rest of their days. A wall of solid energy, formed not of molecules or atoms or mystical power, but rather the very essence of existence itself, from the firm and unchanging nature of the Tri-ni-sette policy. It could not be broken. It could not be melted. No external, or even internal force could affect the ice, beyond the very powers that formed it.

Only Dying Will, could shatter Dying Will, and these Heroes had no such ability.

He leant back against the window frame, stroking Leon absently as he observed the mighty Justice League converge en masse around the dome that stood before them. Reborn let out a scoff. Try as they might, greater numbers would do them no good, though he could certainly applaud them for their effort. It was most definitely quite the sight to see; the dazzling array of lights, colours and heavy weaponry being thrown against the dome forming a stunning and beautiful cascade fit for any museum.

Still, they could not to let this one instance of victory cloud their perceptions. There would be consequences for an act this overt, necessary as it may have been. The League was not to be underestimated. After all, they wouldn't always have an impenetrable wall of 'pseudo' ice standing between them. The Vongola would need to be prepared.

Thus it was fortunate, that due to Byakuran and his vast experience dealing with the matters of other parallel worlds, they already had the overwhelming advantage in terms of information. They were well aware of the secret identities, powers and histories of all the Heroes and Villains of whom they considered the most troublesome of opponents.

Bruce Wayne, with his massive fortune, supposedly supreme intelligence, pathological paranoia and, according to Byakuran, the simple fact that he was "The Batman" (as if that could possibly be relevant in any plausible way whatsoever), was identified to be the first and foremost threat to their operations. With an astounding technical and mechanical track record, proficiency in nearly every plausible, non-emotional skill and with enough semi-illegal spyware scattered across both local and international waters to give him eyes and ears in almost every country across the globe (and Verde had checked. Twice.), this traumatized little orphan was clearly not to be underestimated.

Correction, him and the rest of his personal orphan brood. For despite his so called lone wolf persona, Reborn couldn't help but snort, the "caped crusader" rarely ever worked alone. Thus, there were the rest of his annoying capable associates that also had to be taken into account: Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake and even his bloody butler, Pennyworth. All of them would also require watching, in addition to some the more notable members of their rogues gallery: Bane, Catwoman, The Court of Owls, Ra's Al Ghul, Lex Luthor and especially, the Joker.

If there was one thing Reborn hated more in the world, it was a Wild Card. Particularly one he himself wasn't holding. Particularly one as mad as this one.

Following them, would be the Speedsters: Barry Allen, Bart Allen, Wally West, Eobard Thawne; all for their ability to essentially subvert the laws of physics by simply existing. They would be incredibly difficult to handle for most Vongola members with the exception of Rain and Mist users alone, given their utterly ridiculous, faster than light, speeds of motion.

Then came the mages and mystics: Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Felix Faust, The Amazons, whose powers all worked in ways the Family had still yet to properly understand. They had only managed a marginal amount of testing thus far concerning the varied interactions their flame abilities had with the mystical arts, and while they may have managed a few important breakthroughs, there was still much to learn and prepare for. The dark arts and spiritual magics being a particular focus for their concern.

Still, it should be manageable. So long as they kept their heads about them. Besides, they had yet to find anything in this world, magical, natural or otherwise that Storm flames could not eat through in seconds. Nor Rain slow and Sky petrify, so hopefully the same would apply to any other magical conjurations they would happen to encounter.

As for the rest of the superhumans, statistically speaking, most should be non-issues. The majority could be handled like any other opponent they had faced before, but with the added bonus of being completely susceptible to the full brunt of their flame powers. Additionally, due to either their biology, psychology or powers in general, a fairly large number of supers had clear and obvious weaknesses that could be easily exploited, either on the go, or with just a decent modicum of effective preparation.

The Martians for example, he thought absently, catching sight of the famed Martian Manhunter attempting to shift through the dome. And the Kryptonians, he added, watching then as Mr. Kent, his cousin and his younger clone came crashing down in a united dive attack into the top of the barrier. Though countering them would probably be trickier than most.

There was a buzz in his comm. "Reborn speaking. All upper faculty levels cleared of Tainted, only three survivors found." He casually reported, sharp eyes already noticing movement in his periphery.

"Understood." Gokudera responded. "But I'm afraid we have a situation. The remaining Tainted have given up fighting inside the orphanage. The increased presence of the Leaguers outside seems to have shifted their priorities. They're all making a break for the barrier outside." The request was clear.

Leon already shifting within his grasp, Reborn took position atop the open window. Bringing the sniper's scope up to his eye, he took aim. "Done."

"Yamamoto will handle those escaping towards the front, please handle the sides and rear."

Reborn started firing without preamble, shooting three down in less than a second. He shifted aim; then down went a fourth, a fifth, and then just because he could and because he wouldn't be him if he didn't, he fired a shot just inches past one younger of the Heroes' heads. Beetle, he believed. He smirked slightly.

"Whoops," he said aloud, feeling just the slightest bit sadistic. "Spooked them."

 **-(7)(7)(7)-**

Orphanage of St. Clair – Exterior

Without even thinking, Bart raced forward, diving straight into Jaime's side just as the bullet blasted past, streaked in yellow and exploding on impact against the tree that stood behind them. Silence followed, the shock of the sudden realization causing all within the area to pause and re-evaluate the situation.

The shot had slipped past the ice. The enemy could reach them, but not the other way around.

"SNIPER! EVERYONE WATCH YOURSELF!" Canary roared, her powers amplifying the distance of her cry. With a huff, Bart quickly pulled Jaime to his feet, and the two raced to put some distance between themselves and the dome.

"Wait! No! I have an idea!" The Atom suddenly cried. "Look for an exit hole! If the bullet came from the inside there should be an opening, we could slip through if we shrink!"

"He's right!" Bumblebee agreed. "Quickly, we need to find it!"

As the surrounding metas moved to scan the barrier, Bart stopped for a moment to let Jaime catch his breath. He stared, petrified at the sight that lay before him, hands clenching and unclenching as they hung loosely at his sides. It was a massacre. Children and caretakers cut down left and right, others falling one after another, shots planted square between their brows, their features frozen in fear and in pain. He could feel the helplessness gripping at his chest.

And the memories came without relent. The insectoid ships darkening the skies, the Reach patrols tearing apart friends and families, a blue-clad tyrant and death all around him. Without his knowledge, his hands had reached up to grasp at his neck, at the collar he suddenly felt coiled around his throat, stealing his breath away.

He was helpless. They all were. Unable to do a thing now just as they unable to then. As the monsters from space beat them and whipped them for not working hard enough. Not moving fast enough. Having their way with anyone they saw fit. Killing all they deemed expendable, or too tedious to leave alive.

"Bart?" A voice spoke. "Hermano? Are you okay?"

Almost instantly, he spun his heels, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the massive Blue Beetle looming above him. But before he could so much as react, the gargantuan brute shed his mask, and placed a hand atop his shoulder.

A pause, and he could breath again.

Jaime was looking worried, his eyes darting from the fighting to Bart himself, clearly unsure of what he should do. Taking a few deep breaths, Bart gave his best friend (not enemy) a shaky nod.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." He said, still trying settle his nerves. He tried for a smile. "No worries Hermano, everything's totally crash haha."

Dropping his arm, Jaime hummed disbelieving, but let the excuse slide. For now, clearly. Bart could already see the vicarious guilt and concern written all over the other teen's face. Whelp, that'll be fun, he thought grimly. Nothing he'd rather do, than talk about issues after a mission gone wrong, especially his own.

Fervently, he shook his head. No! No! Now was not the time to be wallowing in his traumas. He could deal with those later (or never, his brain corrected. Yeah, never sounded good). Right now, he had to focus. Lives were at stake, and unlike in the future-past, he wasn't helpless. Not here. Not anymore.

Immediately, he took stock the situation. From what he could see, the Atom and the others had not been able to locate the opening for the initial shot, and were now seemingly rotating between attacking the barrier itself and trying to provoke the unseen sniper into making another shot.

Moments later, the shooter obliged, shot rocketing out from the top of the orphanage spire and aimed directly at the feet of the Atom himself. Bart reacted immediately, racing forward just the as the bullet slipped through the dome. Parting ways with Jaime, he gently swiped the already shrinking Atom mid-leap to Bumblebee's palm and sprinted right towards the spot from the bullet had emerged.

The hole was already halfway-closed, the ice from within having already sealed any chance of entry. Bart cursed, he would have to be faster next time..

He reached for his comm. "Everyone, try and bait another shot. We nearly got through the last. We need just one more."

 **-(7)(7)(7)-**

Orphanage of St. Clair – Interior

"Reborn, could you please stop antagonizing the heroes please? They nearly got in again with that last shot, and I really would rather not have to deal with corrupted metas again any time soon." Tsuna groused, stepping out from the orphanage, mosca in tow. According to Jaeger, they wouldn't be able to transfer the untainted back to base from within the building. The heavy concentration of corruption flames on the inside would interfere with the Vindice's flame of Night too much to make travelling safe.

The young Don received a childish "Tch.", in response over his comm.

"Besides, we're done here now. We have all the uncorrupted children and workers we could find, we'll finish off the stragglers all at once before we leave. Takeshi, Hayato, Reborn, rendezvous at the building's front entrance."

"Understood Tenth!"

"Be right over Tsuna!"

"…Hn."

Dropping his hand from the communicator, Tsuna let out a sigh, subconsciously reinforcing the barrier so that no remaining tainted could try and melt through. He frowned. In addition to the countless lives lost and taken here today, they had also lost another piece to the reformed Tri-ni-sette. Now, Castello needed only two more pieces to complete Mare set of Seven, the Mare pendants of Sun and Cloud, both of which were in the Vongola's possession.

That meant that he would be moving onto the newly chosen Arcobaleno very soon, because, knowing him, he would probably aim to save Tsuna's family for last. Made things more fun that way for him, Tsuna thought grimly. After all, what was a game without an opponent to play with?

A scoff. And oh, how he so loved to play with them. Why he loved it so much, he even decided to steal their name as he went about his initial killing sprees, wiping out Famiglia after Famiglia in his search for the scattered Vongola pendants. Now over half the underworld thought them monsters, villains, legends, and now with this particular instance, a reality.

It didn't escape Tsuna that they had essentially confirmed to the world that the Vongola existed, and that they were clearly just a vile and wretched as Castello had portrayed, butchering children without care or remorse. He sighed. He could say that the was shocked at the development, but he knew that it had been bound to happen sooner or later. Had always known really, ever since he had heard of what Castello had done.

Now, not only did Castello make off with another piece of the Tri-ni-sette, he had also decided to set them up for their Grand Debut. The fact that it would happen at an orphanage filled with innocent children was simply a stroke of luck on Castello's part, and horror on their own.

It hurt. It always hurt, every single time he had to look any Tainted in the eyes, see who they used to be, and be forced to put them down. To listen to them curse him and his family, to fanatically throw their lives away for the sake of a man, a monster, who thought them nothing more - no, who thought them even less than the ants beneath his feet.

But at least in death, they would have their solace, their spirits speaking, for the just the smallest of moments, not in hate or fury - but in relief and encouragement. And while the world may scorn them for what they may seem to do, for the atrocities they may seem to have committed, his Family would never fold.

Besides, he thought, resigned but also strangely relieved, it was better this way. By labelling them as Villains, this new world had given them permission to act like Villains. Free from the Law, from public opinion, granting them the power to do what needed to be done without fear of any sort of backlash. They would fight. They would kill. And they would do whatever it took, to bring an end to the Rovino and secure the Tri-ni-sette.

They would have also come into conflict with the League eventually anyway, seeing as unlike them, the Heroes couldn't exactly tell whether or not a person was corrupted, so no loss there either way.

A wave of cold struck him from the back. "The portal is ready, Don Vongola." Jaeger spoke, tipping his head just the slightest degree. "You may move the children as you will."

Nodding towards the Vindice, Tsuna replied. "Good. We'll begin transport right away." He reached for his comm. "Spanner, how are the children's vitals."

"With the exception of a few broken bones and a number of concussions, all are stable and should be safe to jump."

"Excellent." Then with a gesture, Tsuna motioned for the gathered mosca to enter the portal, their massive hulking forms vanishing quickly one after another into the inky black void of the flame of Night. Glancing upwards, he locked gazes with the Heroes observing them from afar, their features all scowls and teeth and eyes shining with rage.

Clearly, the more intuitive of their numbers had already written off getting in through the barrier as an impossible outcome, given the way they had reluctantly shifted from seeking a way in, to scanning and testing his ice. Another fruitless endeavor, at least, as far as he knew now. Still, they would need to be observed, in case counter measures were required.

The other, far more stubborn lot, were still trying to force their way in, even despite almost fifteen minutes of non-stop attacks and no progress whatsoever. He admired their determination, certainly. Their tenacity – hope. But just as their will was strong, his own needed to be stronger, not only for his Family's sake, but the Heroes as well.

Castello's corruption did not discriminate between humans, metas and aliens. And while infection may be difficult, seeing as only the weak-willed could be affected, it didn't mean it was impossible. More than that, should the Heroes come to realize the presence of the corruption at all, it would in turn draw them ever closer to Castello himself, and should the Don of the Rovino realize that the Heroes were closing in on his trail, he would kill every last one of them. None would stand a chance, and the world would fall to chaos.

At least this way, with the Justice League's ire directed at the Vongola, Tsuna and his family would be able to limit their exposure to the Rovino. Castello, after all, was their problem to deal with, they could not allow anyone to interfere.

As the last of the mosca disappeared into the dark, Gokudera approached. "Transfer of the children is finished and I expect that Reborn has already left, you know what to do Hayato."

The bomber bowed. "Of course, Tenth."

And without managing to show any of the embarrassment he happened to feel (because really Hayato? We've been over this whole bowing thing of yours), Tsuna watched as his friend took a breath, and set the building ablaze.

 **-(7)(7)(7)-**

Orphanage of St. Clair – Exterior

His suit was like the swordsman's, plain black but with red in place of blue; his mask like a roar, all teeth and rage, and with a single breath, the entire orphanage was awash in flame. Dick cursed. Well fuck. The mobsters had started cleanup. That meant things had just gotten a whole lot harder.

The absolute worst traits to find in any villain: powerful, brutal and intelligent enough to cover their tracks. These mobsters, if one could truly call them that, clearly knew exactly what they were doing, and if they were anywhere near as good as they currently seemed to be, there would be nothing left for the League to follow up on by the time they were done.

Many of their numbers had already reluctantly acknowledged they would not be getting through the barrier in time to save the civilians, but had hoped to find some clue to the circumstances surrounding the attack once the mobsters had gone. But now, they wouldn't even have that to fall back on. They were literally watching themselves be sabotaged before they even had a chance to act, and it was beyond frustrating.

Almost immediately, Dick heard his communicator come to life. "Start recording and make note of anything and everything you can find." Bruce spoke without preamble. "Dick you have the North end. Tim, the South. I will take the West and the Arrows will handle the East. We need to gather as much intel as we can while it's still present on the scene. Focus on faces, identifying characteristics and items or actions that might help explain the mobsters' MO."

"Right, I'm on it." Tim replied.

"Already in position." Dick himself added, initiating the recording feature in his mask's ocular lenses.

Above him, the sounds of impact after impact, explosion after explosion rained down upon his being, the air all around him thick with desperation and the now ever encompassing sense of failure. The fact, undeniable to them all, that they had lost. That they had been beaten, and worst of all, bested without their enemy so much as lifting a finger in response. Unable to do a thing, as innocents, as children were slaughtered right before their very eyes.

And Dick knew, without a doubt, that that failure would scar; would fester inside their collective consciences and color their every interaction with the mobsters from this point on. Because they would meet again, of that Dick was certain. He only hoped though, that the traumas they experienced here wouldn't be enough to drive his fellow heroes into doing something they might eventually regret. He had seen it happen to more than enough cops down in Gotham to know there wasn't at least the possibility. He glanced up towards Superman, no matter how good the person may be.

"No! No! No – No – No – No – NO!" Clark roared, still heedlessly trying to force his way through the barrier, his every cry perpetuated by a thundering crash against the barrier's still pristine surface. He then turned towards his fellow heroes. "Why are you all just standing there!?"

"Because we've been at this for nearly twenty fucking minutes Superman and haven't made an inch of progress!" Canary called back, sounding just as frustrated. "And they're literally about to escape! The best we can do now is gather as much information as we can, so we're prepared the next time we encounter them."

"There are CHILDREN in there! In the machines! They're taking them!"

"Don't you think we know that! We'll get them back. But deny it all you want, we've lost Superman. All you're doing now is losing face by blowing your composure!"

And with a furious cry, Clark turned to rage at the ice once more, eyes ablaze, heat beams as wide and as powerful as they could possibly go. And, as many had expected, nothing. It seemed only the mobsters themselves held the ability to affect the barrier. To slip past it's seemingly nigh-impenetrable walls, given how the bullets the sniper had used managed to pass through so easily.

It was obvious that these were no ordinary crime family goons they were dealing with here. For one, they were all clearly metas of some sort. Red with his fire breath, Blue with his heart stopping ability (It had taken them a while to figure that one out) and the bandaged spectre's power over warp. Which in turn, considering all other factors, likely meant that the dome that stood before them, was due to him, the final man among their enemy ranks.

Clad in white instead of black, with soft orange trimmings alongside a matching tie, the mask that he wore was the plainest out of them all. A simple porcelain frown, pale as snow and drawing all who looked upon it to the man's unflinching gaze, his eyes of liquid fire. Dick shivered at the sight of them. He must be their leader, given the way the spectre seemed to have addressed him and how he had instructed Red to begin the burning of the orphanage.

Grimly, Dick watched as Blue sheathed his sword, the last of the remaining stragglers who had escaped building now dead at his feet. At the same time, Red straightened himself up, the remains of the orphanage only cinders and tinder. For a moment, Dick shut his eyes, drawing in a slow steadying breath as he took in the aftermath. It was over, for now.

Then with a nod each towards the man in white, both Red and Blue slipped through the still-open portal, the spectre behind them quick to follow suit, leaving only the leader to remain. He stood there for a moment then, regarding all the gathered heroes, the weight of his gaze alone bearing down upon them all. This was him. This was the man that had stopped them, that had beaten them, all on his own and with a single ability.

A fact, all to easily confirmed, as the man then snapped his fingers and the ice that formed the dome was suddenly flame and heat, a massive inferno crashing down and inward upon all that lay within. Immediately, Dick leapt from where he stood, the fires spreading quickly across the area, engulfing all that they touched.

From the corner of his eye, Dick could see Kaldur and Aquaman attempting to put down the flame, their efforts quickly growing as other Leaguers joined in their attempt. But before they could properly rally a response, the fires, to the shock of all, sputtered and died as rapidly as they had formed, their master gone alongside the bodies of every single victim butchered in the mobsters' attack.

"Bastards wouldn't even let us have the remains." Green Arrow cursed beneath his breath, shoulders tense and fists shaking at his sides.

Without even turning, Dick could sense Bruce's approach, question out of his mouth before he could even realize he was speaking. "Who are they?" He spoke, the anger in his tone surprising even to himself. The frustration and failure suddenly all too real. All too suffocating.

Bruce was quiet for a moment. "I don't know..."

"... But I will soon enough."


	2. Establishing Empire Pt I

**Establishing Empire:**

As the world recovers from the Tragedy of St. Clair, the Vongola move to establish their position.

 _LexCorp Executive Offices - Metropolis, Delaware: January 15th 2017_

 _"It's has now been one week since the tragedy that shook the world. As of now, an estimated 50 civilian casualties and nearly a dozen kidnappings are speculated to have occurred on the scene, as stated by Justice League and Police officials. The incident occurred on the grounds of St. Clair on December 8th, 2017, wherein a group of masked superhumans, alongside a large robotic escort, proceeded to imprison, slaughter and abduct all inhabitants currently present within the orphanage. Details regarding the development of the situation and the presumed motives and identities of the attackers have not yet been disclosed but are expected to be released to the public shortly after the-."_

 _"After a week of extensive investigation, the Justice League has finally allowed the public access to the grounds of St. Clair. The many Heroes present during the great tragedy, are now holding a personal candle-lit vigil in remembrance to those that so unfairly lost their lives. The vigil is expected to be held for the remainder of the week, and is open for any to come and pay their respects. Billionaire Tech Mogul Bruce Wayne has also reached out to the Town of Collinsville, and has charitably donated over 2 million dollars to the municipal government to aid in the rebuilding of the old orphanage and to erect a memorial for the lives-."_

 _"Justice League? More like USELESS League! The bad guys were right THERE! THERE. Literally right in front of them, and for twenty bloody minutes all of these so-called heroes just stood there and let those innocent children meet the sword. And yes, yes. I know what you're thinking. Eye witness accounts of the events have already confirmed that the heroes did in fact try their hardest, tried every possible method they could to get through the big bad barrier, but that is no excuse!_

 _The indomitable Justice League failed, ladies and gentlemen, and it cost the lives of nearly a hundred civilians. They should have seen this coming! They should have been better prepared! And don't even get me started on what's being done to find the abductees and the attackers that took them! It's been a week already, my dear gentlefolk. A week. A full Sunday to Saturday stretch, and still not a peep from our so-called 'heroes'._

 _Just who are these masked mobsters? What were their motives? Where did they take those children? All questions the Justice League has yet to answer, as they've either chosen to keep the information to themselves, or have no idea where to even begin looking! Either way, that means bad news for us folks at home, ladies and gentlemen. Very bad news._

 _After all, these mobsters are in fact still out there. Still very much at large. And if even the mighty Justice League lacks the strength to stop them, we all have to ask ourselves, are any of us really safe?"_

With a soft tap, Lex muted the plasma screen. "Oh Gordon, you truly do have a way with words don't you." He spoke to no one in particular, sipping away at his coffee as he scanned through the latest set of pilfered investigative reports concerning the the Tragedy of St. Clair. Despite his clear biases, as was his job, considering just how much Lex paid him, the man did have a point.

Just what sort of threat did these mobsters really pose, when even the League's finest were unable to contend with them? Who were they? Where did they come from? And was this particular instance of victory only a one time event, or did these new arrivals really possess the strength to make this a true a one-sided pattern? All factors that needed to be considered. Because if these mobsters really did have that sort of power at their disposal, not only the League, but also the Light, would need to re-adjust their plan of action. Were these Mobsters Yea or Nay for the 'advancement' of humanity.

Lex rolled his eyes. Talk about cliche, Savage. The man could have at least spiced it up a bit.

Still, where to even begin? Now that was the question. Beyond the fact that the attack occurred on the orphanage grounds, no clues have yet to be discovered regarding exactly why St. Clair in particular was chosen as the target for the assault. Investigations looking into the staff and caretakers working at the establishment also showed no signs of a connection between any of the employees and the assailants who attacked them, including the director of Orphanage, her head of staff and any of their extended relations.

No illegal dealings. No secret research connections. No links to any persons of power. That meant, that the mobsters had either chosen the target at random, highly unlikely considering the strength of their abilities and level of organization; it would simply be a waste of time, or they were looking for something else that only they were aware of. Lex hummed in thought. Something to do with the orphans they took perhaps? But then, why them in particular? What made those children special from any other tyke walking to and from school?

He had considered for a moment it might have been because the children were potential metas, but then discarded the notion outright given that even the most hopeful outlook regarding that particular probability was exceedingly low. After all if finding more than a single meta in a single town was uncommon enough, what were the chances of having over ten in a single building? Now that was just ludicrous, and considering the mobsters had taken well over twelve, Lex was fairly sure it was not because of their genes. But if not that, then what?

A pensive frown. What to do? What to do? There were far too many unanswered questions here than Lex was personally comfortable with, and seeing as zero was the only value he didn't take persona offence to, that should certainly put things into perspective. After a moment, Lex turned towards Mercy.

"Mercy, be a dear and put me in touch with Ra's and Savage will you? I think it's about time our little club reconvene to discuss some of the more recent developments as of late. I will contact Queen Bee myself and establish connection with the Brain and Black Manta through our affiliates in Belle Reve. Oh and once you've finished that, please ask Otis to get one of the interns to grab me a sandwich from the deli down the street. No need to specify. The man knows how I like it."

The cyborg bowed her head. "Right away Mr. Luthor."

 **(7)-(7)-(7)**

Valeria Hotel, Meeting Room 2 - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018

The Valeria hotel was a recent addition to the Gotham skyline. It was a massive building, boasting well over a thousand separate rooms for guest and services. Its architecture, a meshing of traditional Sicilian and modern contemporary, of elegant arches and spiraled columns accentuated by sleek hard edges and smooth flat planes.

On the ground floor, and within the building's outer east wing, several men could be found gathered around a freshly polished mahogany table, in high backed seats, organized four on each side along the length of the table. Spaced out amongst their ranks, were unopened bottles of the finest wine, held within buckets of the purest silver filled with melting ice. At the center of the table, was a lone vase containing only a single red rose, picked in full bloom and the exact same shade as the colour of blood. The men were talking, voices low as they took in the sight of each of their fellows with wary eyes and thinned lips. No one yet, had moved to even touch the wine.

"Alright, let's cut to the meat of it." The first man began, large and heavy set. His snow white features set into an ugly scowl as he toyed with the harpoon he held in this hands. Pink eyes grew narrowed. "On any other occasion I'm sure we'd all much rather shoot one of our own feet than lower ourselves to the point of willingly cooperating with one another. But as of right now, considering the rather delicate situation we all find ourselves in, I very much doubt any of us really happen to have much choice." the Whale grunted. "So, what is everyone's current status?"

"Why, we're all doing just fan-fucking-tastic really. In fact, we couldn't be better. Thanks for asking." Another man replied, voice like the sound of scraping leather, his features a patchwork of different coloured skins; pale, dark, tan, green, all horrifyingly bound together. "How the fuck do you think we're doing you brainless behemoth." Stitches snapped, jagged lips turned low into an impressive scowl. "Their practically right on our fucking doorsteps. They've already killed off or run out nearly all that's left of the smaller gangs in the city, and now, they're looking right at us; eyes like starving animals."

"Peace, Stitches-dono. Now is not the time to seek fruitless conflict and indulge petty squabbles. If we are, in any way, to set up a defense against our oncoming foes we cannot allow ourselves to fall prey to our mutually shared 'dislike' for one another."

"Oh fuck off Akahara." Stitches retorted. "You only say that because you're head's not already on their fucking chopping block. Do you have any idea how many men, how many resources I've lost to these fucking monsters? The answer is no. You don't. So don't you dare tell me to cool my shit you stupid old man, not when it's my head they're coming after first."

"And we are all so very grateful for the sacrifice you and Intergang have so selflessly taken on for us." Cobblepot chimed in, voice rolling into a drawl. "But let's get down to business shall we. We know they're here. We know they want us gone, and that they'll do anything they can to accomplish this. So, what do you we do?"

"Keel over and die, that's what, you fucking flightless bast-."

And steel met mahogany with a resounding crash. "Silence yourself Denetto." Tobias spoke, features plain, but his voice, a growl. "Your incessant prattle is getting on my nerves."

Then with a hard yank, Tobias pulled his harpoon free of the table. "Yes. Yes. You're precious Intergang is currently being raped six ways from Sunday. What of it? Do you really not think we haven't had our own fair share of problems with these cretins? We've all been crippled in one way or another. The Cosa Nostra have lost nearly half our overall funds just this month alone, trying to keep their goddamn machines at bay. So don't you dare think you're so special you filthy lout. Now zip up that revolting mouth of yours and listen, or so help me I will throw you through another window "Johnny"," the albino finished, leveling his spear towards the other man.

Instantly, Stitches shot from his seat, blaster in hand. "Why you massive-."

"Oh for God's sake, sit down Stitches! Fighting amongst ourselves is not going to improve our situation. And whether you like it or not, this alliance is our the best and only hope all of us have of surviving this war. So let's all calm the fuck down, and talk." Mario ground out, features grim as he stared down his fellow crime lords.

Unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable. To think that in just a matter of weeks, the most powerful crime lords in all of Gotham could be reduced to squabbling children. It was maddening. All that they had, all that they had built - everything was on the precipice of collapse, and nothing, absolutely nothing that they had tried had been able to reverse it.

Mario heaved a sigh. The motion slowly dropping tensions throughout the room, a physical representation of all the frustration that they each clearly felt. With a reluctant huff, Stitches dropped back into his chair. After all, it wasn't as if the man had a choice anyway. This united front was essentially all that stood between them, and complete assimilation into the Vongola.

As the very last of the Falcones, he shivered at the thought. He could not and would not allow the legacy and prestige his family had fought so long for, fall so low. Gotham had been synonymous to the Falcones, practically since the time of its conception. This was their city, and despite having fallen into difficult times with the rise of the meta-human arms race, Mario was determined to ensure that they would not be going anywhere.

The question now, was how? How do they go about besting gods as mere men? Because, individually, they had already tried everything. Force had been immediately useless, considering just who it was they were competing against. Bribery would get them nowhere. And blackmail and extortion were only good when one actually happened to possess at least some modicum of knowledge regarding their opponents, of which they essentially had none.

So what do they do? What could they do?

The answer was simple. There was now, only one plausible course of action that Mario could conceive that would allow them to at least somewhat even the odds against these accursed clams. He simply hoped that his other fellow dons would be able to put their petty grievances aside long enough to at least consider the option.

With the near constant buzz surrounding the event, it hadn't exactly been difficult for the young Falcone to link the Vongola to the massacre at St. Clair. The lack of a conceivable goal. The swift and brutal nature of their methods. The masks that they all wore. All were signature traits of the Vongola's modus operandi. But by far the most damning clue of all, would be the machines that the mobsters had used during the attack.

They were the exact same build and make as the countless soulless automatons currently laying waste to the entire Gotham underground. Tall and with significant bulk, they were massive brutish things just barely resembling the shape of men. And their most distinctive feature, the dome shaped head that sat atop their shoulders, with three metal tubes extending from their jaws.

Along the grapevine, he had learned that the Vongola referred to the machines as Mosca, given the fly like headpiece possessed by all supposed variations. But, that was beside the point. The mobsters at St. Clair had been using the exact same mechanical infantry, belonging solely to those fucking clams.

Coincidence? Not fucking likely, Mario mentally scoffed. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that the Vongolas weren't at least partly, if not entirely responsible for the massacre at the orphanage. And if he was correct, this just might be their one and only chance to get the League on their side. After all, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Mario thought wryly. Practically anyone with eyes and at least half a brain would be able to tell that after such a devastating defeat, the heroes would be itching for a rematch. And if the sudden spike in criminal arrests all across the country was anything to go by, they wanted it bad.

Now, he just hoped he wouldn't automatically be shot, just by voicing the idea. A truly real, and very tragic possibility.

 **(7)-(7)-(7)**

Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018

"Are you sure we can trust Cobblepot?" Superboy frowned, peering steadily through his binoculars towards the meeting across the street. His high vantage point from atop the closest apartment, giving him full view of the council through the windows at their side. It looked like the mobsters had just apparently ended their argument, with Stitches from Intergang reluctantly lowering himself back into his seat. "How does he know that the clams will turn up tonight?"

"He doesn't." Tim mentally responded, sitting off to the side, legs crossed and fingers flying across his keyboard. "But considering the fact that essentially every single obstacle standing between them and complete control of the entire Gotham underground is sitting inside that room, i'd say it's a fairly good bet that they're going to show. Obvious set up or not."

With a final click, Tim's laptop chimed. "Password Accepted - Security Access: Granted." Bingo.

Tim smiled. "Alright guys. I've got the cameras and emergency alarms. If the clams show, we'll know long before they reach the mobsters."

"Good job Robin." Nightwing replied from his perch further down, his figure crouching in one of the nearby trees. "Alright everyone, keep your eyes peeled and keep noise levels to a minimum. If the Penguin was telling the truth, then these guys are the real deal, and are probably already expecting this to be a trap. We have to be careful. Miss Martian, Raven, anything on patrols?"

"Nothing yet, Nightwing. East corridors are clear."

"Main too. Nothing but sleepy maids and servers so far."

"Copy that. Report back the moment either of you find anything."

"Roger."

"Will do."

Back atop the neighboring building, Tim brought up a map of everyone's locations. In addition to M'gann and Raven on patrol and Dick on sentry duty, there were four others working alongside them to ensure the success of this potential sting.

Oracle was monitoring for any incoming and outgoing messages, ready and waiting for any chance at an interception, or, if need be, send a distress call for backup. On standby, were Zatanna and Rocket, their magically enhanced cooperator prison their final trump card against anything the mobsters could pull. And finally, directing the entire operation - Bruce, in disguise and already inside the conference room. After all, in comparison to whomever it was that they were escorting, no one ever notices when a guard gets swapped.

They were essentially prepared for anything. But they still had to be wary. If the footage the Penguin had relayed to them was accurate and these really were the same attackers that had beaten them at St. Clair, then they would have to be beyond careful. And judging from the video that had been sent, if they weren't right on the money, they were definitely close.

According to the Penguin, he had just barely enough time to snag the short clip from one of his hidden security feeds, before making his escape from the Ice-berg lounge.

One moment, all was calm. Soft jazz wafting through the air, waiters and waitresses weaving back and forth from kitchen to tables, the lights dim and the mood mellow. And then the next thing anyone knew - pandemonium, as a bleeding and haggard Don Beretti staggered into the building, just as the entire front entrance of the Lounge was blasted apart, revealing the exact same machines Tim and the others had seen during the attack the orphanage.

And without a word, they strode into the club, a tall silver-haired figure emerging from amongst them, out from behind their mechanical ranks. Clad in a striped black and canary jacket, with matching pants and a fur lined hood, the figure leveled a blade towards the still struggling Beretti.

" **Found you, you corrupted little fucker**."

And then the had feed cut off. Tim pursed his lips.

After almost two weeks of constant searching, they finally had a name. A new, rapidly growing power within the criminal underworld; small in number, but exceedingly powerful and sweeping like a plague throughout the entire Eurasian continent. They called themselves, The Vongola, and it was clear to see that they were beyond dangerous.

Active for barely even a year, they had already amassed a track record long and gruesome enough to rival even the most well established and brutal of super villains. Their literal debut into the global underground - the rumoured butchering of the entire Artiglio crime famiglia in Sicily, one of the largest and most powerful criminal organizations in all of southern Italy. And since then, their power and infamy has only spread further and further as time wore on. Their very name, initially eliciting bewildered disbelief and comical snark, now bringing about nothing but sheer unadulterated terror to the minds of those that knew of their unpredictable and unexplainable fury.

It was estimated that, as of now, The Vongola have slaughtered well over two dozen of the world's most powerful crime organizations. From The Demone in Tuscany, to The Black Circle Triad of Singapore. To The Zanna. The EverRed Cartel. And Jigoku Ryuu. Some of the most feared and venerated crime rings in each of their respective continents (not countries - continents ), equipped with the very latest in terms of state-of-the-art weaponry and some even possessing their own metahuman divisions. These were criminal giants, operating on an international stage. And without pause, the Vongola had left each and everyone of them, broken and crippled and scattered, and all without even slightest of clues as to - why.

Why them? Why not essentially anyone else, when in some cases, they were literally over half a world away from Vongola territory?

There was only one explanation Tim could come up with. Seeing as all the targets that the Vongola had thus far deleted had no prior connection to one another, beyond being ruthless and criminal, it was more than clear to Tim, that that the Vongola were looking for something. And, horrifyingly enough picking off entire organizations at random as a process of elimination amongst those that fit their criteria. But what could they possibly be looking for? Weapons? Tech? People?

A frown. And if that was the case. Why attack St. Clair? Why take the children? Could those kids have possibly been what the Vongola had been looking for this entire time? Tim had no idea. All that he did know however, was that whatever went down tonight, beit from the mobsters plotting inside the hotel to the Vongola members that come for their heads, they were going to get some answers. Both for themselves and for the fates of those the Vongola had taken.

They had to. They would not fail again.

 **(7)-(7)-(7)**

Valeria Hotel, Meeting Room 2 - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018

"Are you out of your fucking mind Falcone!?" Stitches roared. "Those sanctimonious shitstains would no sooner lock us up than lend us a hand you stupid fool! What the hell are you even thinking!?"

"That it's better to be down and alive, than beaten and dead." Cobblepot intervened. "Worst case scenario, the League may lock us up, but at least then we would still have the chance to rebuild. If the Clams get to us first, then we lose even the possibility of fucking breathing let alone starting over. I, for one, am in agreement with little Mario's proposal."

"As am I." Akahara chimed in. "Regrettably, the Vongola are far too powerful a force for us to handle alone. Cooperation with the League may just be our only option left."

"Cowards then, the lot of you." The Whale growled. "I'd no sooner die than grovel at the feet of those idiots in tights. Where is your pride?"

"Hah! As if you're one to talk about pride Whale, considering how you ran away from Metropolis when the going got tough." Mario retorted. "Had too much trouble with their big blue boy scout signor?"

"How dare you." Tobias hissed, slowly rising from his seat, harpoon already firmly in hand.

From his place beside the doors, Bruce watched disinterestedly as the mobsters continued to bicker. His features neutral, as he steadily took in all the information he saw, heard and even smelled. Even if the Vongola didn't show tonight, despite Cobblepot's assurance that they would, the information they had gathered here regarding their activities was already more than enough to merit conducting this entire operation.

Just from the gathered mobsters idle chatter, he had confirmed that the purpose of the Vongola in Gotham was neither funds, nor material in nature. That their tech was on par with, and in many cases even above the most advanced of apokoliptian weaponry, courtesy of Intergang. That they were rapidly buying up and stealing away, larger and larger sections of territory from the other crime famiglias, and either scaring off or completely destroying all those that tried to resist.

And Bruce - Bruce did not like the sound of that, not one little bit. Because to him, it meant that the Vongola were not simply in Gotham to deal with a few outstanding issues, but rather, they were looking to set down a permanent presence here in the city. He could not allow that to happen.

The Vongola were already dangerous enough in the short bursts that they've been coming in. If they managed to legitimately set down roots, not even in just the city, but rather anywhere in the entire country, it would be an entirely new monster of a situation. Their enemies would quite literally be in their own backyard, and unlike their regular run-of-the-mill super villains, the Vongola we're already confirmed and clearly experienced hero killers.

Byakko. Doctor Light. Jaguar. Legionary. And countless other heroes who had all coincidentally ceased all activity, in the wake of reports sighting the Vongola in their midsts. It wasn't hard to figure what probably happened, and as of now, only a handful of bodies and graves have been found scattered across Eurasia. It astounded Bruce. That so many preventable tragedies could have occurred under the League's watch. That so many good innocent people had perished without anyone knowing, and that the Justice League, the most prolific and influential hero organization the world over, had only just found out that they had even happened at all. It was a gut wrenching revelation.

But, even more than that, the fact the Vongola had managed to even suppress the information at all, not to mention for so long, reflected just how powerful a threat they had rapidly become. The planning and organization required for such a feat - utterly insane, given the sheer interconnectedness of their world's day and age.

All evidence would have needed to be destroyed. All relevant connections - snuffed. And all potential witnesses - silenced before any chance of spreading the information could be reached. Even just for one hero, it was a truly monumental task, and the Vongola, if their estimations were correct, had killed nearly twenty, and that's not including any other unregistered vigilantes they might have potentially crossed paths with.

Bruce furrowed his brows. Without doubt, they needed to be stopped. Earlier in the year, they had taken advantage of the League's divided attention between The Reach and Rimbor, to rapidly expand their criminal influence. Doing whatever they pleased. Now, all eyes were on them. The totality of the League united against their newest foe and fueled not only by duty, but also the right and furious intent that justice be done for all the suffering that they had -

\- A snort. "As if involving the League would make any difference." Inzerillo cut in, leaning back into his seat. "The Vongola have already bested the League once before. What makes you think this situation would be any different, even if you bring them in."

The other mobsters grew silent then. The gravity of the statement clearly ringing true, as much as Bruce hated to admit it. The Vongola had indeed beaten the League at St. Clair, and had done so with minimal effort. It was a hard truth to swallow, and one many Leaguers were still having issues coming to terms with even now. But Gotham would not be another St. Clair, Bruce would not allow it. The League would never allow it. Never again would they be bested so easily. The Vongola may have taken the first battle, but it would be the League that would win this war, just as they had every other war before it.

"The Vongola have one victory under their belt. That does not mean that they cannot be beaten." Akahara spoke. "I cast my vote with the League."

"Here, Here." Cobblepot nodded. "Besides, if we play our cards right, both sides just might end up removing each other for us in the long run."

"And giving us the opportunity to reap the spoils once they've finished tearing each other apart."

Disturbingly, Inzerillo merely smiled in response. "Do you really think it would be that easy?" He began, reaching into his suit. "Do not underestimate the Vongola my friends. The League may be powerful, but even their strongest lack the mettle to actually finish their foes. The Vongola have no such compunctions." Withdrawing his hand from his suit, the elderly mobster revealed a gleaming serrated knife. "They are cold. Calculating. And most important of all, they already have more than enough experience when it comes to exterminating metas."

And then Inzerillo tossed the knife upwards. The blade spinning once, twice - before landing in a palm many years younger than the one that had thrown it. Bruce tensed immediately.

"Shishishishi. Take it from me. I killed two, just last week." The Vongola grinned.

Shit.

 **(7)-(7)-(7)**

Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018

"Fuck." Connor swore, peering through the binoculars towards their newest arrival. He was a blonde, clad in the same jacket as the figure they had seen on the video feed, with bangs so low they covered his eyes and a grin large enough to rival even the joker's. He also wore a literal fucking tiara atop his head, Connor absently noted.

Casually, the man tossed his feet up onto the table, toying with the knife he had brought out before and chuckling ever so darkly. It was also one of the strangest laughs the half-kryptonian had ever heard.

 **"Shishishishishi. Now, now, what's this?"** The clearly, apparent Vongola began, voice bleeding through their connected comms. **"So scared you can't even speak? Hah. And here I was expecting more from the biggest baddest crime lords in all of Gotham city."**

A shrug. **"Oh well. I'll get you folks talking sooner or later. Well, more like screaming really, but - close enough."**

 **"... What have you done with Inzerillo?"** Falcone spoke.

 **"Do I really need to answer that?"** The Vongola replied, casually miming the knife slipping across his neck. Fucking shit, Connor cursed again. The bastard was going to kill them, he knew without a doubt. Quickly, he dropped the binoculars, turning back towards Robin and sharing a nod. They had no time to waste.

Connor furrowed his brows. "M'gann. Raven. Nightwing, status report." No response. Connor frowned. "Guys? Guys, come on, status reports! Damn it... Oracle?" Silence. Fuck.

"We have to get down there now." Connor spoke, rounding onto Robin as the other made their approach. "Mental link is down -."

"- Standard comms are too, and we definitely have more than one Vongola down there, I know. Come on. We have to hurry!" And Robin broke into a sprint, firing off his grappling gun just as he cleared the edge of the building. Connor was quick to follow suit, starting up his jump after a few solid steps to build up momentum. Then the next thing he knew, he was on the lawn of the hotel, buried half a foot deep in a crater that he had made and with a groaning Robin sprawled prone atop of him. What the hell? How did...?

A sudden squeal swiftly answered his question. Off to the side and about a dozen meters from where they had landed, clad in black and canary and currently hopping from foot to foot - a man, tall, lean and with one of the worst hair and glasses combinations imaginable. A neon green mohawk and dark red glasses. Gross.

"OH MY GOODNESS, the cuddles! You two are so cuuuute!~ Oooh, pictures! Pictures! I need pictures!"

Rolling off of him, Robin let out a groan. "Red and Green? What? Is it Christmas already?" He huffed, trying to stagger to his feet, arm rising to shield his eyes away from the sudden bombardment of camera flashes. "And pictures of other people require consent to be taken!"

"And we are not cute!" Connor roared, leaping up from his prone position to charge at the other man, arms spread wide in an attempt at a take-down.

With ease, the other Vongola shifted to the side, slipping right past Connor's flank before driving knee right into his gut, and then slamming him right back into the dirt with a punch to his kidney. The Kryptonian groaned, momentarily stunned by the strength of the hit.

"Bastard!" Robin hissed, rearing back to loose a volley of birdarangs aimed right for the mobsters chest. With a duck and a roll, the Vongola dodged the attack, flipping right back onto his feet before sending back a wink.

He smiled. "Gonna have to try better than that sweetie." He sang, slowly dropping into a crouch. "Now, my turn~." And the Vongola flashed forward, practically vanishing from view with a quick burst of speed.

It was only thanks to Tim's own experience with the likes of Catwoman, Canary and Bruce that just barely allowed him to slip past a punch that would have easily had him dreaming up stars. Almost immediately afterwards, he leapt away, putting distance between himself and his attacker.

"Oooh. Impressive. You have good reflexes." The Vongola spoke, sounding pleasantly surprised, the image of Tim's still tense and wary posture reflected clearly on his red-rimmed shades. "Perhaps this won't be as boring as I thought it would." Be chuckled lowly. "The question now though is: -." And Tim dove towards the side, the ground upon which he had previously stood, now naught but a crater encompassing the mobsters fist.

"How long can you keep it up."

Without missing a beat, Tim scoffed. "Hah. You kidding me? I can do this all night." It was an obvious bluff, especially in an open area like this with almost next to no cover. But that was fine, all he needed was a moment.

Mr. Mohawk let out a chuckle, slowly pulling back his fist from the rubble that surrounded it. "I see. I see. Well that's good then. It has been a while after all, since I've had a good tussle with a pair of boys as handsome as yourselves." And then he spun back, completely side-stepping Connor's second attempted charge, and driving a boot into the small of the Kryptonian's back.

Connor staggered forward, quickly righting his position with a controlled roll, and glaring daggers at their opponent. Raising an arm, he wiped at the dirt speckled across his face. "Fuck you." He growled, ears ringing with a mix of anger and indignation. He refused to be beaten by this fucking... peacock.

The mobster waggled a finger. "Uh. Uh. Uh. Not until you take me out to dinner first darling~." He giggled. "Oh, and just a heads up," And then Conner realized, a knee had just been driven right into his jaw. His head snapping back, as the warm taste of metal steadily began to fill his mouth.

"I'm top only."

 **(7)-(7)-(7)**

Valeria Hotel, Meeting Room 2 - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018

The moment the mobster's stated his intent, Dick was on autopilot. Bracing himself against the tree upon which he was perched, he leapt towards the windows, arms up to shield his eyes, just as smoke began to fill the room. With a resounding crash, Dick dove through the glass, landing with a roll and quickly pulling out his eskrima sticks, just as Bruce himself emerged from the clouds, armed and cowled.

Together, the two of them converged on the self-identified Vongola, Bruce from the left and Dick, the right, the mobsters all around them scattering towards the very edges of the chamber. The blonde let out a laugh, shrill and almost more like a hiss, as he casually toyed with the knife he held in his hands. A whistle.

"Well now, isn't this some fine royal treatment." He grinned, slowly lifting his feet from atop the table. "The Bat and his first Birdie just for me? You shouldn't have."

In spite of himself, Dick felt himself a growl. "Whatever it is you're after here, forget it. You're outnumbered and outgunned. Surrender now, and no one gets hurt."

Setting his feet down onto the wood, the Vongola's grin only widened. He then raised a hand, and brought two-fingers up towards Dick. "Two things, little birdy, that you should probably know. First, considering the fact that I clearly not at all surprised by your presence, should probably inform you that we knew this was most likely a trap long before even deciding to drop by. And as such, have logically prepared ample preparation to avoid any sort of plan you peasants might have had to 'detain us.'" He drawled. "That's the reason why you're telepathic connections are no longer working, and why your comms have all been remotely shut off."

The Vongola clapped his hands together, knife laid flat against the the palms of his hands. "And Second-." And with a flourish, the blonde pulled his hands apart, rising from his seat and revealing dozens upon dozens of wicked jagged knives floating between his palms. "-A Prince, is rarely ever, outgunned."

Then with a clap, the knives were flying. Immediately, Dick bolted to the side, Bruce doing the same before each let loose a volley of birdarangs and batarangs. The mobster merely smiled, quickly producing another set of blades, from who knows where, and flicking them all in the direction of their assault. The attacks clashed mid-flight, the knives making a clean intercept with each and every target, sending them all, knives included, tumbling towards the ground.

Or at least, that's what Dick had assumed would happen. Instead, the knives froze mid fall with a snap of the mobsters' fingers, before quickly re-orienting to face their new intended targets. Eyes flitting back to glance at their rear, Dick could also see that the knives he thrown before had now also risen back into the air as well.

"Shishishishishi. You're going to have to try better than that." The blonde grinned, flicking his wrist to reveal another set of razor sharp blades. "Now, shall we dance?"

Bruce moved first. Loosing a second volley of batarangs towards the blonde and quickly diving forwards. As Dick had expected, the knives surrounding the Vongola immediately moved to defend, flying towards the projectiles as Bruce launched himself at the enemy. With a resounding crash, the batarangs exploded upon impact with the blades, raining dust and smoke and knives all across the area.

Then a clash. Another. And another after that, and from the thick clouds of gray, the blonde leapt forth, grin still plastered firmly upon his lips, cheeks scratched and marred with the thinnest of cuts, coat covered in debris. With a click, he landed atop of the mahogany table with barely even a sound, knives flying from his fingertips. Within seconds Bruce also re-emerged, four gleaming blades sticking out of his reinforced kevlar suit, but still looking no worse for wear.

Now Dick was the one to move, swiftly drawing his eskrima sticks from his back and leveling the metal towards the Vongola. "Last chance to surrender peacefully. Otherwise, we won't be held responsible for how many broken bones you'll have by the end."

Another laugh, and Dick moved without hesitation, sprinting forward to close their distance, and lashing out with two solid swings towards the face of the mobster. With a near infuriating grace, the Vongola weaved through both of the attacks, leaping off the table and drawing a hidden combat blade from the recesses of his coat, metal meeting metal with a rain of sparks. Then seeing a shadow at the very corner of his eye, Dick dropped low and swung out with a leg in attempt to sweep, Bruce coming in from the side with a kick of his own, higher and towards the head.

With wide eyes, Dick watched as the mobster let himself be swept off his feet, using the momentum of the fall to twist his body down, just narrowly avoiding the edge of Bruce's foot, before lashing out with two kicks of his own. It was like a move straight out of tekken, stolen right from the list of Eddie Gordo himself. Damn it, Grayson! Now was not the time to be impressed!

Pivoting from his position, Dick pulled himself back, body just barely twisting out of the blonde's way as a boot came swinging right past by his head, trailing the faintest tint of scarlet. With a soft thud, Bruce landed at his side, also unharmed, but the very edges of his cape - seared and burnt.

Rising back up to his feet, the mobster spoke. "Damn, you guys are good. If I was even just a slightest bit slower, I would probably be unconscious by now. Shishishishi. Brachial plexus origin in the neck, or be knocked prone and risk being grappled. Hah! So the creepy ass dragon wasn't kidding about you after all batsy." Casually, the mobster took a stance, raising the combat blade as he gestured languidly with his other hand, the scattered knives littered across the room quickly gathering themselves around him.

Dick glanced towards Bruce. "Dragon?"

"Questions later." Bruce replied, readying another set of batarangs. "For now, we need to focus on bringing in as many as we can and getting the other mob bosses out of here."

"No." Another voice spoke. "We're not going anywhere." And Dick turned to see Mario Falcone, leveling a fully charged apokoliptian laser pistol directly at the blonde. "You and your ilk have fucked with the wrong family, bastardo."

By just the barest of fractions, the Vongola's smile darkened. "Shishishi. Ohhh. Those are some very big words I hear, from a very dead peasant."

Glancing around, Dick watched as every other mob boss, drew their arms. Falcone growled.

"Fuck you." And he fired.

 **(7)-(7)-(7)**

Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018

This was probably one of the most obvious fucking stings Squalo had ever seen. All of their bitch ass "competitors", for their soon to be established Varia branch, all neatly packaged together in a single enclosed room, with minimal security. Like what the fuck else could it possibly be? These idiots were fucking lucky they weren't here to just straight up kill them all.

"Occupy them for a bit. Draw away the League's attention so that the rest of us can move undetected for a bit. We're all already aware it's most likely a sting. Use that to your advantage, and take them by surprise instead. All we need is 20 minutes, tops. Oh, and as always, feel free to kill any tainted you find amongst their ranks."

And they had. Or at least, they had started to. Beyond Inzerillo, which Bel and Mammon had easily dispatched, there was still one more of the group that needed to be culled. The loud one, with the crazed eyes and disgusting patchwork skin. And considering the current state of things, he was more than certain Bel would also be killing him too soon enough as well.

Approaching casually from the side of the building, Squalo watched as Lussuria began a fight with one of the Kryptonian fucks and "the Batman's" current pigeon protege. The peacock catching both of the little shits way off guard by intercepting their movements mid jump and sending the little birdy rocketing into his alien friend.

Moving onward, the swordsman then languidly stepped to the side, the wall to his left blowing open to reveal a mass of writhing blue tentacles. Caught within, an unconscious Martian girl and a still struggling half-demon, both held imperiously aloft as Mammon calmly emerged through the opening, arms extended, tentacles emerging from the dark of her sleeves.

Catching sight of him, she spoke. "Squalo."

"Mammon." He responded back, watching detachedly as the illusory woman brought up her arms and flung the two heroines right into the dirt, mere meters away from Lussuria's chosen quarry. Within moments, the four little wretches had quickly huddled up, cursing loudly as they desperately attempted to wake the still unconscious Martian.

Scowling deeply, the demon rounded on the then approaching Lussuria and extending a hand and calling out the words. **"Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"**

Almost immediately, the peacock was blasted off his feet, pitch black and white energy striking the man dead on against his chest, sending him hurtling into a nearby spruce. He landed with a crash, the tree creaking dangerously as a genuine laugh escaped the pansy's lips. Rising back to his feet, Lussuria smirked.

"Well at least one of us seems to be enjoying themselves." Mammon spoke, tentacles retreating back into her sleeves. She turned towards him then, features shadowed by her darkened hood. "How goes the rest of the operation?"

Squalo let out a snort. "Fucking fantastic. Our shitty boss decided he was going to be a fucking no-show, your mini scientist friend just alerted me that over half the fucking men in tights are on their way here and apparently the fucking other guys we're covering for, haven't even fucking started their portion of the operation yet."

"So in other words, same as always?"

"Same as fucking always." Squalo said, rolling his eyes.

"Well at least the vital things are going according to plan. What are the heroes' ETA?"

"A few minutes at most, probably much less. Depends on which shithead the Gordon-bitch managed to get in contact with first."

The esper hummed in thought. "Hmmm, well then. I guess we'll just have to make sure they're properly welcomed." Steadily, two wisps of flame flared from her cloak, taking positions by her shoulders. Within moments, each had taken the form of a massive, fully loaded mini-gun, their internal gears slowly whirring to life.

Turning back towards the hotel lawn, she spoke. "Go. Deal with the situation inside. Lussuria and I will deal with the issues out here, and will alert you when anymore of the heroes arrive. Oh, and get Bel to do something about that idiot we've been stuck with. As nice as it would be to get rid of him, he has vital information that we can't exactly let loose."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. And don't forget to tell the alligator brat to start frying their comms now. We've let them get their signal out; it's about time we snuff it."

"Hm. Well you heard the man Verde." The woman spoke into the air. "Chop chop. Time is money after all." And with that, the woman strode forward, miniguns blazing to life as the stupid kids on the field split to avoid their fire. Turning back toward the hotel building, Squalo started forward once more, quickly reaching the shattered ground floor window that Grayson no doubt flung himself through once Bel dropped his cover.

Judging from the sounds coming from inside, they were still going at it too. Stepping in, Squalo surveyed the devastation. The table and chairs were all in pieces by this point, and a massive pool of wasted wine covered sizable chunk of the room's dark wooden flooring. And weaving around it all, through all the broken glass, shattered wood and all that other shit, was Bel, grinning like the fucking psychopath he so happened to be, locked in combat with Wayne and Grayson. Most of the other mob bosses were either pressed up against the sides of the room or ducking under cover, their eyes wide, breathing heavy and the majority, armed and actually fucking fighting. Huh, who would have fucking guessed. The bitches did have spines after all.

And of course, he would have to be the one to do their actual work. Grumbling loudly beneath his breath, Squalo slipped through the broken window, and nonchalantly approached his intended target; back braced against a portion of the table that had fallen over, apokoliptian laser rifle held firm within his hands. Fucking tainted ass sap, didn't even see him coming.

With a flick of his wrist, Squalo parted the fucker's head, clean from his shoulders, the disgusting stitched skins putting up next to no resistance as the reinforced edge of the assassin's blade slipped right between flesh, blood, bone and back again, white flame oozing out from the now headless cadaver. From the side, a scream was quick to ring out, bullets and lobs of pure plasma suddenly flying his way. Loosing a rain-infused shockwave into his immediate area, Squalo let out a growl, projectiles freezing all around him.

"VOOIIIII! Playtime's over bitches! You're dealing with me now."

 **(7)-(7)-(7)**

"The Arrows have left Star city."

"The boy-scout is off to Gotham."

"And the Flash is on his way as well."

 **"Good. Shamal, you're free to make contact. Byakuran, Kozato you may now begin your hostile takeovers..."**

 **"... And yes, Dame-Tsuna, I do in fact have to refer to them as hostile..."**

 **"... Do you really think Manheim and Black are just going to hand over control of their organizations just like that?..."**

 **"... No, I do not care how the term makes you feel. The operations will most definitely be hostile and so will be referred to as such. Reborn out."**

"Oya, oya. Some things never really change do they?"

"... Oh Tsuna-kun..."


	3. Establishing Empire Pt II

_**Establishing Empire II:**_

 _Network Underground Complex, Office of Amunet Black - Keystone City, Missouri; January 15th, 2018_

Leslie Jocoy was many things. Ambitious. Calculating. A straight up bitch, an honest truth she very readily accepted. But if there was one thing that she wasn't, it was ill informed. And it was precisely because of this fact, that she was about to do something even she herself still had trouble believing. Even now, as the sound of her own statement rung loud in her ears, her eyes never leaving the figure that stood before her.

Leslie wasn't stupid. She would not end up like the rest of her criminal compatriots. This would not be her end. She absolutely vehemently refused. And so, just as a hungry lion steals the kill of a feeding hyena, so too would she let these bastards take what was hers. For so long as she herself survived, there would always be a chance to rebuild, to grow stronger and to seek revenge.

"Just like that?" The figure spoke, tone even as he strode towards her desk. Watching him approach, she nodded curtly, just once. Her lips pressed thin into a line.

"... Yes." She responded, leaning back then into her seat, her body suddenly so very heavy. "Take it. Take everything. So long as I am not to be harmed and guaranteed safe passage to leave this place, then I will pass over leadership of my Network... To the Vongola."

Reaching her desk, the man sat himself down in the seat across, posture straight yet relaxed. Taking in the sight of him, Leslie made sure to burn the image into her memory, a cold rage and indignation roiling within her gut. Over six feet tall. Red hair, red suit with black trimmings. A mask upon his features, black base speckled and intricately decorated with precious earthen gems. Two unfeeling blood red eyes, with almost star like pupils.

The man regarded her silently for a moment. "And for what reason should I trust you?"

"None at all. But then what would I have to gain from lying to you. The Vongola aren't the only ones who who make it a point to have eyes and ears whenever they can. I know exactly who you are and what you're capable of - mister Singularity." And she did. She knew all too well, the sheer level of danger this one man posed.

Singularity. Named after the center and core of black hole, infinitely fitting for the monster that sat before her. If all the reports she had read about his abilities were true, this man could quite literally destroy her entire facility with just the snap of his fingers. All that she had built and grown, along with even she herself -gone in an instant, pulled and torn apart within an endless void of space time. That or crushed to death by their own sheer gravitational force. Yay.

At the mention of the title, the man showed no response. Not that she was expecting him to. Regardless, she continued without preamble. "If you wanted to kill me, I would already be dead. If you wanted to destroy my organization, then you wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of visiting me. This tells me that clearly you wanted something else, which as you've now informed me, is my Network itself. So good. You can have it, just let me go free.

Otherwise, if you kill me now you'll have to deal with all the trouble of wrangling my employees and then attempting to force them to work for you. Keep me alive and before I leave I will officially rescind my control over the organization and pass it over. No chaos, no loss of resources and so much more time saved. It's a quick clean exchange; you get what you wanted and with next to no hiccups."

A hum. "Well now. Clearly, you've thought this through." The fucker dared to chuckle.

God, she wanted to skewer this bastard, she could feel the metals in her body twisting with rage. If it was literally anyone else, she would have loved to indulge the desire, to lose herself to the feelings of righteous and indignant fury even now still coursing through her veins. But she knew better than that. She didn't stand even a single fucking chance against one of these monsters, let alone one the groups' distinct leaders. Her only option here, was to negotiate some sort of safety for herself.

"Well?" She spoke, feigning disinterest. "I'm afraid I don't have all day. If you're going to kill me, kill me. If not, then I'll be off to pack my things. Either way, I hate waiting."

Leaning himself back then against the chair, Singularity paused a long moment, the silence dragging on like a pressure upon her shoulders, until eventually he brought a hand to his ear. "Adelheid, tell the others to hold their assault on the facility, negotiations have been pleasantly surprising thus far."

Taking that as her cue to leave, Leslie rose from her seat and began acquiring the essentials she would need after she vacated the premises. Her first stop, as she listened to the man shift from english to italian, was her personal safe hidden in the other end of the room. Swiftly making her way over, she peeled away the section of metal wall covering the safe with her powers, before immediately setting to work on the container's combination lock.

Opening the container, she retrieved from its contents the emergency funds she had been stocking away over time, alongside her personal handwritten work dossier detailing all of the Network's major partners and affiliates and all their respective contacts. Slipping the notebook into her pocket, she proceeded with gathering the other items present in the safe. The cash funds and after a bit of digging, a highly volatile xenothium explosive, strong enough - theoretically - to blow this entire 3 mile facility to kingdom come should it be used.

It was her last trump card so to speak, and while it may kill her too in the process, so long as it killed whoever forced her to use it would have been tit for tat. But, Leslie had no intention of dying today, and so just as quickly as she had snagged up the notebook, so too did she now stow away the bomb, the sound of Singularity still speaking echoing in her ears.

Absently, she wondered if this would actually have been enough to kill the mobster, before shaking her head. No. Now was not the time. Soon. But not now. She still had a chance to make it out. No use in wasting it here. Turning back then towards the other occupant in the room, she strode with purpose back towards her desk.

"Perfect." Singularity spoke, speaking english once again. "Then till next time, Don Vongola." He finished, releasing his earpiece then, before resituating his gaze upon Leslie herself. A shiver, cold and icy ran down across her back, the air in the room all of a sudden heavy and suffocating. So this was it, huh, she thought. Feeling her limbs and body growing heavier under the gaze of this beast. "Alright Ms. Black, as convenient as your offer would be...

... I do believe I have a counter offer for you."

 **-(7)+(7)+(7)-**

Enma watched in morbid fascination as the woman, Leslie Jocoy - Alias: Amunet Black moved automatically. Hands immediately reaching for an item in her coat, as a myriad of emotions flickered across her eyes. Fear. Rage. Desperation. Resignation. Indignation and Resolve. He observed then, as she swiftly pulled forth a small metal capsule, around the size of an apple with glowing red core from one of her pockets, and without preamble smashed it right into the ground.

It was a very impressive display Enma acknowledge, noting the speed and decisiveness of the woman's actions, particularly considering she did it all while under the effects of his _Sfera di gravità._ Mind it was nowhere near full strength, but still worthy of note.

Upon smashing the capsule, the woman immediately shut her eyes, her expression truly at its calmest since his sudden arrival a half hour prior. Without even thinking, Enma extinguished the explosion. A hand instinctively reaching towards to snuff the blast, as the area in which the capsule broke was instantly consumed by a highly condensed, yet simultaneously contained black hole. The energy from the bomb trapped and subsumed by the infinitely powerful gravitational pull.

It was then at this moment, that Jocoy opened her eyes, and realized over the span of a few seconds, that she was still, in fact, alive and that her split second attempt at blowing both of them up had failed. With a snap of his fingers, Enma closed the black hole, a sizable chunk of the floor, in the shape of a perfect sphere, now gone by Amunet's feet. The woman was as pale a ghost as of this point, her arms having risen instinctively to wrap around her torso in attempt at self comfort, and while Enma was no psychologist by any means, even he could tell, she knew - she had fucked up. Big time.

Which, when one viewed it from her perspective, made complete sense. She had just tried to kill him after all, him, in her eyes - a member and co-leader of the current most dangerous, ruthless and sadistic organization in the world. She was probably expecting the worst as of this point, where even a quick death would be a luxury. It was terrifying to Enma, just how much influence Castello has had on this world only after a single year since his arrival.

He also acknowledged that, in all actuality, he himself was the one who was wholly responsible for her actions just now. He had activated his aura in attempt to look and appear intimidating, a default reaction he had long since established over the years of negotiations with other criminal organizations back in their home reality. After all, it was often times as Reborn always said, a healthy dose of fear was always complementary to any situation. Made people more willing to listen so to speak. But yes, in essence, he had scared the shit out of her without meaning to, and caused her to try and off them both.

Outwardly, Enma appeared calm, but inwardly he was beyond embarrassed. What sort of leader can't even control their own power? If Adelheid or Reborn were here, he was certain he would be having an earful right about now. Or in the case of Reborn, just bullets in all probability. Straightening in his posture then, he leaned forward in the chair that he sat in to take stock of his situation. Immediately, he dropped his aura and let out a chuckle to try and diffuse the woman's very badly hidden dread.

Immediately, at the sound of his laugh the woman stiffened, her features shifting quickly from fear to sadness and then once more to resignation in just a few a seconds. Dropping her arms then from around her torso, she moved to stand as straight and as tall as she could before snapping out. "Well, what are you waiting you bastard. Just fucking kill me already. Get on with it."

Raising his hands at the woman's statement, Enma shook his head. "Now. Now Ms. Black. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here shall we. You've still yet to hear my counter offer."

"... What?"

"My counter offer, you haven't heard it yet."

He watched her take a breath then. Then another and another, before soothing her tone a speaking again. "And what exactly would that be, Mr. Singularity?"

"A compromise. The Network, shall remain as it always has been, with you leading as it's head. The only distinction would be that The Network would now become an unofficial constituent of the Vongola, or more explicitly, my Shimon Branch Family."

Slowly, walking back over towards her desk, Amunet sat herself back down in the seat across from Enma's. "And why would you propose such a compromise?"

"Because, similar to what you've said before, its significantly less work on our part to recruit an ally than to force their numbers into working with us. More than that, you clearly know more about running this organization than I myself personally care to, and as such it would only stand to reason that you would be the best fit for the job to continue leading it. All the Vongola ask for in exchange is full transparency and access to anything the Network finds, develops or deals in.

This includes business contacts, client groups, organizations, intelligence files, imports and exports of both the legal and illegal variety. The Vongola will also henceforth become the sole backer for the Network, meaning that once this deal is set all ties with previous sponsors can and will be permanently cut. Reasonable enough?"

Enma really hope this worked. It was why he had spoken to both Verde and Reborn over the matter, to acquire their take on the potential of the plan. He already knew Tsuna-kun would object, but the opportunity was simply too good to pass up. If he managed to seal this deal, not only would the Vongola gain a major trading partner and ally - which meant more funding and resources that they could utilize - they would also drastically increase the size of their intelligence network here in North America and provide themselves an in to many other criminal circles across the continent. They wouldn't even need to use any of their own personal manpower to lead and keep it running, especially with Amunet running the entire thing for them.

What gave him this crazed idea? The fact that Amunet, unlike what he had initially been expecting, was willing to be cooperative. This told Enma that this woman was a thinker. She probably knew the moment he had shown up that it was either capitulate or die, and so instead of reacting with outrage chose to negotiate. This woman knew how to pick and choose her battles, how to keep her emotions in check and her priorities straight. She saw the bigger picture, and though that may invite the possibility of a double-cross later on in time, Enma knew that right now, the Vongola needed all the advantages they could get.

Amunet frowned. "But then that would leave my Network with no protections whatsoever. If we break with our current sponsors now, many can and will make attempts at both my life and my organization's."

"Not to worry Ms. Black. The Vongola will always seek to protect their own." Enma replied, reaching into his suit then to pull forth a small disc with a single blue button. Placing it then onto the desk, the young don spoke. "Think of it as a panic button of sorts. All you need do is press this, and the whole family will know regardless of branch or position. Additionally, if it would help soothe your concerns, the Shimon would also be more than willing to donate a number of standard and specialized Mosca to aid in the defense of your facilities and officers. I do hope I need not cite their capabilities."

"No. I know what they're capable of. I've seen more than enough recordings." Amunet spoke, gazing towards Enma now with a critical eye. Rising from his seat then, Enma leaned over the desk and extended a hand towards the woman.

"Well," He began, more than aware that she had already made her choice. He could practically see the ambition dancing across her eyes. "Do you we have ourselves a deal?"

Taking the offered hand, the woman gave him a smirk. "I believe we do Mr. Singularity."

And Enma smiled behind his mask. "Perfect. Welcome to the Family Ms. Black."

 **-(7)+(7)+(7)-**

 _Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

"What the hell are these guys!" Connor spat, diving towards the side as another volley of machine gun fire came flying in his direction, trailing his path of movement. Seeing an opening then, he lunged forward. Just barely ducking under the spray of metal in time to reach the cloaked woman in control of the guns themselves. Within seconds he was right on her, arm reared back to send her flying right into next fucking week, his features a snarl.

"So predictable." The woman spoke, just as Connor drove his fist forward, body twisting to apply as much force as he could. But then she changed, her cloak flying open to reveal rows upon rows of rotting jagged teeth and twisting mandibles surrounding a wide open mouth. Immediately, Connor tried to throw off his momentum, to change the direction and slow the force of his attack as physics pushed him ever forward into the open drooling maw.

With a resounding crack, the teeth slammed together just inches before him, his body flying upwards and then away from the Cloaked Woman's wretched form. Hovering now, over the battlefield, Connor turned towards M'Gann.

"Thanks." He exhaled, fighting to catch his breath.

"Don't thank me yet." M'gann replied, throwing him sideways just then as pair of twin missiles rocketed past. Turning back towards the fight, Connor saw the Cloaked woman extend an arm out towards them, one of the miniguns hovering at her back having shifted into a large artillery launcher. Scratch that. A currently firing artillery launcher!

Without preamble, Connor felt M'gann drop her telekinetic hold on him, his body instantly hurtling towards the ground as the missiles the cloaked woman had loosed pursued them both. Landing in a crouch and leaving a crater in his wake, Connor had no time to lose as he immediately spun on his heels and swung out a punch towards the oncoming heat seeker. Making contact, he braced himself as the explosion blasted him back, but managed to keep upright as smoke quickly enveloped the area.

Holy shit. What the fuck. Connor scowled, watching carefully then for the smoke to clear. Damn it all. These guys were no joke. He knew coming into this operation, that if the Vongola showed, they would be in for a major brawl, but this was something else entirely. Practically nothing phased them. Not even a bit. Their attacks were all being countered. Their abilities and combinations nullified. And this was just three people! It was almost as if they had been training to fight them specifically... But that didn't make any sense at all.

Hearing a shout off to side, Connor immediately took a stance, a large black sudden piercing through the smoke, streaks of red and yellow adorning their uniform. Seeing the other, Connor moved to intercept, catching Robin mid-flight just as the other was about to hit dirt.

With a pained groan, the other spoke. "Fuck. Sorry pal." Robin groused out, struggling to steady himself then as Connor set him down. Off in the direction the other had come from, Connor could see Raven and Zatanna working in unison to fend off the Peacock that they had encountered earlier, their magics lashing out at him as flame, earth, ice and whatever brand of magic Raven used. Currently, they had the blond trapped in coils of stone and magic, anchoring him to the ground.

But then with a flash of yellow, the coils were gone, alongside any of the injuries the Peacock had already sustained, again, and the fight continued. "Yup. Calling it now. Whole organization is definitely all Metas." Robin spoke from his side, readying his staff just as the smoke all around them suddenly began to swirl and shift.

In a matter of moments, the smoke darkened, the colour growing deeper and more apparent into a darker shade of blue. Stepping up against one another, Connor took a stance, Robin at his back staff at the ready, as the very smoke itself surged forward, congealing into dozens of snarling snapping mouths and grasping hands. Rising above it then, the same Cloaked woman from before, arms outstretched and features shadowed by the hood that she wore.

"Do make this at least a little challenging now would you."

"Hey! Screw you lady!" Connor snarled, bracing his legs and grabbing Robin just as the smoke creatures collapsed upon them, his vision growing dark as he felt the shadows engulfed them. With a roar, he tucked Robin into his side and leapt upwards, using all the strength to breakthrough the mass of writhing limbs and out into the air. Without losing a beat, Robin swung his body around and dove towards the woman, staff lashing out right against her side.

With a scream the figure struck the ground, dark blue energies rapidly escaping from her form. Starting from the legs up, the cloak fell away, slowly revealing the now struggling form of Raven groaning beneath them.

Landing absently off to the side, Connor blinked. What? But - But how? When did she -? And in an instantly, Connor was caught, writhing blue tentacles wrapping tight around his body, coiling at his throat. Frantically ripping them away, he found himself being lifted upwards, pulled into the sky by their original foe, the woman watching him disinterestedly.

"I'm afraid it's lights out now, little alien." She spoke in monotone, soft green light slowly emanating from the tentacles that held him aloft. Shit. No, it couldn't be, Connor thought. There was no way, and yet already he could feel his body growing weaker, pain building like lightning throughout his entire body. Shit. Shit! ShitshitshitshitSHIT! Thrashing wildly in her grasp, Connor began tearing at the tentacles again in earnest, but as he did so, only more green light began to emerge from within them. Solid chunks of viridian stone rising from underneath the skin along the exterior of the arms, acting like spines that dug right into him.

And it was agony. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. Absently, he could hear M'gann trying furiously to speak to him, verbally and mentally, practically screaming at him to listen. " _NO CONNOR! THEY'RE NOT REAL! THEY'RE NOT REAL! DON'T BELIEVE HER! IT'S NOT REAL!_ "

"Oh, but they are aren't they." The woman smiled. "Just like the pain that you're feeling even now. But don't worry, with this much Kryptonite in close proximity, you won't be feeling anything ever again soon enou-."

 **-(7)+(7)+(7)-**

 _Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

Speaking up from the comm in her ear, Verde stated. " **Enemies incoming - 10, 9, 8, now."** And without preamble, Viper dropped the half-Kryptonian and dematerialized, another form immediately crashing into the illusion that she had left behind and scattering mist flames in all directions. Masking her presence, she watched then as Captain Marvel zoomed to catch the unconscious Superboy, laying him softly on the ground then just as the martian and a number of the other young heroes gathered around him.

"He's out cold." Robin announced, after checking the other's pulse, his features ugly, dancing with rage. Whoops. She thought absently, before flying over towards Lussuria. Perhaps she let her enjoyment get the best of her a little too much there, but oh well. It wasn't like she killed the boy. He would recover, eventually.

Bringing a hand to her communicator, she spoke. "Squalo. Bel. The other Heroes have arrived. Time to converge positions."

Grunting. The clashing of steel and explosions ringing out from the other end of the line. "' **Bout fucking time."**

" **Shishishi. Be there soon."**

Releasing her comm, she then moved to hover over Lussuria's fight with the Zatanna girl. Knowing that they didn't have much time before the rest of the heroes rallied and reconverged upon them, she extended a hand and immediately placed the perceptions of the unsuspecting sorceress in a frozen wasteland of ice and snow.

"Quickly, Lussuria. Time to regroup with the others. We can't handle this many heroes by ourselves, not without the boss. Let's move."

"Agreed!"

And the two headed out, the both of them heading for their pre-designated rendez-vous position just as Bel and Squalo arrived onto the scene, leaping, dodging and throwing blow after blow at the attackers that pursued them. Emerging from stealth, Viper moved to hover at their rear, extending an arm out to send a hail of lightning crackling towards their foes. Evading the attack, Batman and Nightwing retaliated, loosing their own volley of explosive bird and batarangs right in her direction.

She watched then as Squalo raised a hand, and the projectiles froze in place mid-flight, hanging there unmoving for the just the briefest of seconds before detonating as their inner clocks stopped. From there, erupting out of ensuing smoke, a brilliant green fist the size of a car - Green Lantern at its source. Stepping in front of the attack, Bel intercepted, bringing a single blade up and then down onto the hard light construct just before contact could be made, the knife flashing red.

Almost immediately, the punch was subsumed by storm flames, the construct falling apart long before it force its way any further forward. "What in the world!?" She heard Green Lantern cry out, the storm flames now rapidly eating their way along the hard light channel emanating from his ring. Snuffing the power, Jordan pulled away just as the flames had reached him, the scarlet red light swiftly dying out.

"Oh dear. This doesn't look good honeys." Lussuria spoke up then, drawing Viper's attention to the near two dozen heroes and sidekicks that were now currently surrounding their position. No. Not good indeed. If they were allowed to kill these blasted idiots, they wouldn't have to be dealing with this sort of situation. Ugh. She wasn't getting anywhere near enough compensation for this garbage.

Still, neither side had made a move against the other yet thus far, save for glaring at one another, but that was Squalo's default expression so no real relevance there. Perhaps they could use this impasse to their advantage. Rising up higher then, above her contemporaries, Viper silently regarded the opponents that stood before her.

"Well, well. I must admit, I am beyond honoured to have so many of the League's best and brightest with us all here today. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." All she needed was more time right, for the other branches to finish their ends of the operation. If she could get them talking...

And instantly, she vanished, teleporting a short distance away as number of arrows flew past her initial position. "Guess the feeling isn't mutual then." She stated, throwing her cloak open and loosing mist flames out across the entire area.

"Damn right it isn't." Shazam snapped back, rocketing from the crowd and lunging right at them. Tch. How annoying.

" **Looks like we got more heroes than initially estimated."** Verde stated.

"No fucking shit!" Squalo roared back, eyes darting to and fro as the Flash circled his location. Weaving around weapon and magical fire herself, Viper reached out then, and taking hold of the mist flames she had already loosed across the area and plunged the entire zone beneath the oceans. Suddenly, heroes were grasping at their throats, arms flailing wildly as if trying to break the water's surface. Unaffected by the illusion, the other Varia members continued their assaults, Lussuria diving head first into Captain Atom and Icon, as Bel once more began his dance with the Waynes.

" **Very well. Permission granted for use of semi-deadly force."**

And Squalo grinned, letting out a laugh then, as he rushed forward towards Black Lightning, sword now wreathed in blue flame. Reaching his target, the swordsman slammed into the other man striking him head on as he sent a pulse of rain energy into his opponent. Mid-fall, Black Lightning froze, hovering in space features frozen as the time around him slowed to a halt.

"Now this is when things get interesting!"

"Here here!" Lussuria smiled, yellow energy quickly enveloping his form, injuries rapidly healing and sealing shut, just as a mass of blue and red crashed into him. Without pause, Superman pressed the attack, landing blow after blow against the other, Lussuria dealing back as good as he got. A gleam in the corner of her vision, and Viper dove downwards, the demigod's blade swinging just inches past her.

Pursuing their target, Wonder Woman and her protege continued their chase, following Viper as she weaved through the combat. To throw them off, Viper formed two clones that split from her direction, each identical to herself. In response she watched as Wonder Woman unhooked her lasso from her belt, and swung the object through both clones as they attempted to spread out. Upon making contact, the clones vanished, the mist flames they had been formed from fading away.

So it seemed magic could interact with their flame powers after all, Viper noted, feeling her lips curl. The Lasso of Truth. Garbage.

"Surrender now illusionist! Your tricks can deceive us no more!"

"You haven't seen anything yet!"

And with that she raised her arms, and brought them hell on earth. Literally.

 **-(7)+(7)+(7)-**

 _La Noire, Pent-House Restaurant - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

" **The operations are complete. You may now make your escape."** Verde drawled.

" **Easier said than fucking done!"**

" **Shishishi... These peasants are annoyingly persistent."**

" **They won't leave us alone~!"**

" **We have legitimately no windows for escape at the moment."**

With a growl, he slammed the wine glass onto the table, his earpiece roaring incessantly with the sounds of explosions, metal on metal and other bits of combat all garbling together. All he wanted tonight was to enjoy some good wine and good food for fucking once, and these goddamn weaklings were ruining everything. Couldn't even handle a couple of pissants in coloured tights, and they called themselves fucking Vongolas? If he had to listen to any more of their bitching, he was going to kill them himself.

Rising from his seat, he pulled off his comm, crushing the device then as he strode towards one of the other patrons of the restaurant. It was fat ugly old man, with greying thinning hair and dressed to look like he was legitimately someone important. As he approached, he watched as the man took notice of his advance, sharing a glance then with what was clearly his equally unappealing wife, before turning back to face him.

"M-May I help you?" He began, puffing up his chest to make himself look bigger. The other patrons of the restaurant had all stopped at this point to observe their interaction, watching with vested interest as he came to a stop just inches from the older porter man.

"Your gun." He spoke, loud and clear, leveling the man a glare. His evening was already going to shit as it was, he did not have the patience nor desire to engage in any level of proprietary. Not that he ever did, but that was beside the point. "Hand it over."

"Wh-what? I beg your pardon?" The older man stammered.

"Your gun. The one you have holstered beneath your coat. Hand it over."

"Wha - You can't be serious. No. I refuse!" The other man spoke in a huff, standing indignantly from his seat then to better meet his glare, only to flinch away just mere moments later. Raising an arm to gather the attention of a staffer, he called. "Waiter! Get your manager! I demand this hoodlum be removed from this restaurant at once!"

Stepping closer, Xanxus brought up a hand. "I wasn't giving you a choice, _grasso vecchio cazzo._ Your gun..." And it was at this point, that energy began gathering within the palm of his hand, a dark orange fire tinted with red. "... or your life. I get the gun either way."

Stumbling back immediately at the sight of the flame, the man fell back, the light from Xanxus' flames of wrath making his weakness all the more apparent. "Y-You! Yo-You're one of those meta-freaks!"

Eyes narrowing at the statement, Xanxus increased the intensity of the flame, furniture all around the restaurant now rapidly beginning to spontaneously combust. Seeing this, the older pulled open his coat, rapidly drawing forth the gun that he had stashed beneath and tossing it over. "F-Fine! Fine! Take the damn thing! Louise, quickly dear let's get out of here!"

Snuffing the flame to catch the gun, Xanxus paid no heed to the two as they ran, or the surrounding flames currently engulfing the restaurant around him. What a pleasant surprise, for a shitty old fuck, the pig actually had decent taste in guns. Arsenal Firearms - AF1 "Strike One" short recoil operated, striker-fired semi-automatic pistol. Well taken care of too, or more likely new and never used.

Turning back to the matter at hand though, Xanxus then turned to make his was towards the restaurant balcony, blasting the doors open with a passive wave of flame energy before taking hold of the AF1, and siphoning into it, his flames of wrath. Emerging out into the open air, he walked straight towards the railing, casually taking aim aim towards the chaos that he could clearly see near the Valeria hotel from his position 20 stories up.

These trash underlings better be fucking grateful for this.

" _... Scoppio d'Ira."_

 **-(7)+(7)+(7)-**

 _Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

"Yes!" Artemis cried out, giving a cheer as he watched the bubble surround one of the Vongola mobsters, encapsulating his form and leaving him trapped within. "Nice job Rocket! Zee!"

"No time for cheers just yet!" Zatanna replied, throwing a barrier between them and the oncoming lava erupting from the grounds, the heat causing her to flinch and back away. Damn, this fight was crazy. These mobsters were monster fighters with monster powers. The entire area had shifted at least three times in the past three minutes alone, going from underwater, to molten caverns and now to frigid wasteland, with erupting magma pillars shooting out from the ground.

And this was all supposedly just an illusion, by that one female Vongola member. Illusions, she corrected, seeing Cassie being blown away by a blast of magma rising from the earth, that were also more than capable of doing real physical damage. If it weren't for Zee, Wonder Woman and the other magic users they had brought along with them, she'd knew for a fact that she would have probably "drowned" with that first illusory environmental change. And knowing what these illusions were capable of, she really didn't want to think about what would have happened if that actually did occur.

"Hey guys, a little help here!" Rocket snapped from their rear. Turning back then towards the mobster in their trap, the one with the tiara, she noticed all of a sudden that he was already half-way towards making an escape, two knives thrust cleanly through Rocket's barrier, one in each hand. Immediately, she called out. "Zatanna!" Before loosing two throwing knives at the protruding the blades, each readily striking their mark.

But as they did so, thy disintegrated, blade, handle and all as wicked red flames erupted from the mobsters weapons. Above her, Artemis saw Zatanna swoop down, taking a position alongside Rocket and sending her magic to reinforce the prison. Just like they did with Blue in the past. Rocket's force field would absorb a strengthen itself based on the kinetic energy the mobster used in driving the blades forward, while Zatanna's magic snuffed whatever powers he happened to be using to aid in his attempt. There was no way this little princess was getting away that easily.

"Shishishishishi. Very impressive peasants. Too bad for you, it's just not gonna cut it!" And with a flash of scarlet the fires surrounding the mobsters' blades flared, and the knives began to move.

"No fucking way!" Rocket cursed, bringing her hands closer together in an attempt to strengthen the field. "Zee!"

"I'm trying! _Semalf ffuns! Serif eht tuo tup!_ Nothing's working! The fires won't respond to my magic, and anytime I try and reinforce the barrier it doesn't make a difference 'cause the fires just keep eating through my spells!"

Quickly acknowledging the situation for what it was then, Artemis took and stance and readied her arms, eyes trained and waiting for when the mobster broke free. And practically like a hot knife through butter, she watched as he sliced his way right through and out of the techno-magic prison, carving a jagged line right across the front of the barrier which then frayed and burnt and fell apart as the fires spread across the entirety of the sphere.

Seeing an opening, she rushed forward, sword in hand and swing downwards in swift sharp arc. Reacting faster than she expected, the mobster dodged her attack, rolling clear from her follow up and putting further space between them.

"Well, shishishishi. Looks like it's time for us to leave~." The other blond cooed, rising to his feet and giving her smile.

Taking in his statement, Artemis instantly moved to pursued, "Oh no you dont!" she snarled, only then coming to notice as she began her charge, that the skies above her had grown significantly brighter. Spinning on her heels, she only just barely managed to hear Wonder Woman scream, "COVER!" before instinctively diving as far away from the battlefield as she could. The entire area lighting up as it were middiday as a massive beam of concentrated energy crashed right into the ensuing combat, the force of the blow literally throwing her into the air and into a nearby tree.

Shaking off the dizziness still wracking her head, Artemis struggled back to her feet, taking in the sight of what used to be the hotel's western courtyard. A massive crater lined with scorch marks now present the very center of the field, smoke and debris scattered everywhere across the area. It was just pure destruction. And that wasn't even the worst part.

No, the worst part of it all was, even without looking around, she knew - the Vongolas had escaped.

Fuck.

 **-(7)+(7)+(7)-**

 _Intergang Headquarters - Metropolis, Delaware: January 15th 2017_

Well, that was easy. Byakuran smiled, looking out into the beautiful Metropolis skyline from his newly appropriated offices, the burnt and ashen bodies of Manheim and the rest of his personal guards scattered haphazardly across the room. From the floors below him, he could here the sounds of Kikyo, Bluebell, Zukuro and their Moscas finishing off the remaining dissenters, the sound of their screams echoing loudly throughout the now mostly silent facility. Now he knew he should technically feel at least a little bit guilty for the sheer number of lives he had just ended today, but considering the fact that most were murderers and convicts willingly following the orders of a cannibal, he decided he'd just cut himself some slack for now.

Besides, it's not even like he had all of them killed. Only those that chose not to capitulate, even when he had already asked so nicely. Hearing the sound of footsteps coming up from his rear, he could practically feel the disapproving the glare the other man was giving, brows furrowed and lips pressed thin. Turning around to face the other, Byakuran cocked his head. "Hello my little Lightning Guardian. Anything to report?"

Fascinated, he watched as Gamma's face pinched even further than normal, the older man immediately reaching into his coat and extracting a packet of cigs. Grabbing one, he lit the butt with the flash of lightning flames before resting his gaze proper on Byakuran himself. As he took a drag, Gamma moved to set himself down into one the seats in the office, one of the clean ones without char of blood adorning the cushions.

"Nope." The other man responded, leaning back into the seat. "Nothing interesting anyway. We found more records and contact information for criminal connections. A few business dealings with Lexcorp, shipment notes from Apokolips regarding new weapons and armors. No sign of Castello and any tainted. But, on the bright side, no sign of Castello and any of his tainted."

A hum, and Byakuran turned back then towards the view of the Skyline. After a beat, he spoke. "Do think she would have been mad at me?" He asked aloud, reaching out then to place a hand atop the glass.

Gamma scoffed from where he sat. "Definitely. Without a doubt." the older man chuckled. "To be honest, I am a little too, but I doubt my opinion matters that much to you."

"Hmmm, sad but true haha."

Silence.

"... She'd understand though, just like I do. Considering what we found in their higher ups' dinner and fridge. She'd probably just be mad at you for the sake of being mad at you at that point since she'd know scolding you wouldn't be properly justified."

Byakuran chuckled softly. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"So, what's the plan now boss? Intergang is no more, the takeover is complete. What's our next step?"

"Wellllllll~ I was thinking a rebranding."

"Rebranding?"

"Yeup. I was thinking the Giglionero was so very dry Gamma-kun. It would be way better if we opted for a for different name since we're here now." That, and the Giglionero - The Giglionero was hers. Always has been, always would be, and with all the darkness and malice Castello has cast upon the Vongola name since arriving in this world, the last thing he wanted to do now was indirectly do the same with her precious Famiglia.

From behind him Gamma grunted in approval. "Well colour me surprised, that's actually not a bad idea. What name were you thinking? Back to your roots - Gesso?"

"Nah. I was thinking something more, flowery, if you get what I mean." Byakuran smiled, turning to send a smirk towards the other man.

A snort. "Ahh. I see what you're getting at. It's almost ironic I'd say."

"Hehe. It kind of is, isn't it." First they had wanted the world for themselves, and now, they would do whatever they could to protect it. Funny, how things turn out like that. "The return of the Millefiore."


End file.
